UC-NI 


£exchi  .suti  firtuwmiT 


OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


«   " 


THE  STOLEN  SINGER 


Miss  Redmond  detected  a  passage  of  glances  between  them. 


THE 
STOLEN    SINGER 


MARTHA  BELLINGER 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ARTHUR  WILLIAM  BROWN 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOBBS- MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1911 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO 

MY  HUSBAND 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  TWILIGHT  IN  THE  PARK 1 

II  HAMBLETON  OF  LYNN       ......  16 

III  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS 34 

IV  MR.  VAN  CAMP  MAKES  A  CALL        ....  46 
V  MELANIE'S  DREAMS 63 

VI  ON  BOARD  THE  JEANNE  D'ARC         ....  81 

VII  THE  ROPE  LADDER 97 

VIII  ON  THE  BREAST  OF  THE  SEA  107 

IX  THE  CAMP  ON  THE  BEACH 129 

X  THE  HEART  OF  YOUTH     ......  143 

XI  THE  HOME  PORT     ......  154 

XII  SEEING  THE  RAINBOW 173 

XIII  ALECK  SEES  A  GHOST 186 

XIV  SUSAN  STODDARD'S  PRAYER 205 

XV  ECHOES  FROM  THE  CITY  ......  220 

XVI  A  FIGHTING  CHANCE 237 

XVII  THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 252 

XVIII  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD         .        .        .265 

XIX  MR.  CHAMBERLAIN,  SLEUTH 283 

XX  MONSIEUR  CHATELARD  TAKES  THE  WHEEL        .        .  298 

XXI  JIMMY  REDIVIVUS 315 

XXII  A  MAN  OF  No  PRINCIPLE 335 

XXIII  JIMMY  MUFFS  THE  BALL 351 

XXIV  AFTER  You,  MONSIEUR  ! 366 

EPILOGUE                                                                  .  381 


THE  STOLEN  SINGER 


THE  STOLEN  SINGER 

CHAPTER  I 

TWILIGHT   IN    THE   PARK 

"V/'OU  may  wait,  Renaud." 

The  voice  was  firm,  but  the  lady  herself  hesi 
tated  as  she  stepped  from  the  tonneau.  There  was 
no  answer.  Holding  the  flapping  ends  of  her  veil 
away  from  her  face,  she  turned  and  looked  fairly 
at  the  driver  of  the  machine. 

He  seemed  a  businesslike,  capable  man,  though 
certain  minor  details  of  his  chauffeur's  rig  were  a 
bit  unusual,  and  now  that  he  had  been  obliged,  by 
some  discomfort,  to  remove  his  goggles,  his  face 
appeared  pleasant  and  quite  untanned.  His  pas 
senger  noted  these  things,  remarking:  "Oh,  it  isn't 
Renaud!" 

"No,  Mademoiselle ;  Renaud  hadn't  showed  up  at 


2  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

the  office  when  you  telephoned,  so  they  put  me  on  in 
his  place/' 

"Ah,  I  see."  Accent  seemed  to  imply,  however, 
that  she  was  not  quite  pleased.  "The  manager  sent 
you.  And  your  name  is — ?" 

"My  name — rather  odd  name — Hand." 

The  face  half  hidden  behind  the  veil  remained  im 
passive.  A  moment's  hesitation,  and  then  the  lady 
turned  away  with  a  short,  "You  will  wait?" 

"As  mademoiselle  wishes.  Or  shall  I  perhaps 
follow  slowly  along  the  drive?" 

"No,  wait  here.   I  shall  return — soon." 

The  young  woman  walked  away,  erect,  well- 
poised,  lifting  skirts  skilfully  as  she  paused  a  mo 
ment  at  the  top  of  the  stone  steps  leading  down  into 
the  tiny  park.  The  driver  of  the  machine,  free  from 
observation,  allowed  a  perplexed  look  to  occupy  his 
countenance.  "What  the  devil  is  to  pay  if  she 
doesn't  return — soon!" 

The  avenue  lifts  a  camel's  hump  toward  the  sky 
in  the  space  of  fifteen  blocks,  and  on  the  top,  secure 
as  the  howdah  of  a  chieftain,  stands  the  noble  por 
tico  of  the  old  college.  To  the  westward,  as  every 
one  knows,  lie  the  river  and  the  more  pretentious 
park ;  on  the  east  an  abrupt  descent  offers  space  for 


TWILIGHT    IN    THE    PARK  3 

a  small  grassy  playground  for  children,  who  may  be 
seen,  during  the  sunny  hours  of  the  day,  romping 
over  the  slope. 

As  the  gaze  of  the  woman  swept  over  the  charm 
ing  little  pleasance,  and  beyond,  over  the  miles  of 
sign-boards,  roofs,  chimneys,  and  intersecting  streets, 
the  serious  look  disappeared  from  her  face.  Sum 
mer  haze  and  distance  shed  a  gentle  beauty  over 
what  she  knew  to  be  a  clamoring  city — New  York. 
Angles  were  softened,  noises  subdued,  sensational 
scenes  lost  in  the  dimmed  perspective.  To  a  chance 
observer,  the  prospect  would  have  been  deeply  sug 
gestive;  in  the  woman  it  stirred  many  memories. 
She  put  back  her  veil ;  her  face  glowed ;  a  long  sigh 
escaped  her  lips.  Slowly  she  walked  down  the  steps, 
along  the  sloping  path  to  a  turn,  where  she  sank 
down  on  a  bench.  A  rosy,  tired  child,  rather  the 
worse  for  mud-pies,  and  hanging  reluctantly  at  the 
hand  of  its  nonchalant  nurse,  brought  a  bit  of  the 
woman's  emotion  to  the  surface.  She  smiled  radi 
antly  at  the  lagging  infant. 

The  face  revealed  by  the  uplifted  veil  was  of  a 
type  to  accompany  the  youthful  but  womanly  figure 
and  the  spirited  tread.  Beautiful  she  would  be 
counted,  without  doubt,  by  many  an  observer ;  those 


4  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

who  loved  her  would  call  her  beautiful  without  stint. 
But  more  appealing  than  her  beauty  was  the  fine 
spirit — a  strong,  free  spirit,  loving  honesty  and 
courage — which  glowed  like  a  flame  behind  her 
beauty.  Best  of  all,  perhaps,  was  a  touch  of  quaint- 
ness,  a  slightly  comic  twist  to  her  lips,  an  imper 
ceptible  alertness  of  manner,  which  revealed  to  the 
initiated  that  she  had  a  sense  of  humor  in  excellent 
running  order. 

It  was  evident  that  the  little  excursion  was  of  the 
nature  of  a  pilgrimage.  The  idle  hour,  the  bit  of 
holiday,  became  a  memorial,  as  recollection  brought 
back  to  her  the  days  of  childhood  spent  down  yon 
der,  a  few  squares  away,  in  this  very  city.  They 
seemed  bright  in  retrospect,  like  the  pleasant  paths 
of  a  quiet  garden,  but  they  had  ended  abruptly,  and 
had  been  followed  by  years  of  activity  and  colorful 
experience  in  another  country.  Through  it  all  what 
anticipations  had  been  lodged  in  her  return  to  Home ! 
Something  there  would  complete  the  story — the 
story  with  its  secret  ecstasies  and  aspirations — the 
story  of  the  ardent  springs  of  youth. 

Withdrawing  her  gaze  from  the  scene  below, 
though  with  apparent  reluctance,  she  took  from  the 
pocket  of  her  coat  an  opened  envelope  which  she  re- 


TWILIGHT    IN   THE    PARK  5 

garded  a  moment  with  thought  fulness,  before  draw 
ing  forth  the  enclosures.  There  were  two  letters, 
one  of  which  was  brief  and  written  in  bad  script  on 
a  single  sheet  of  paper  bearing  a  legal  head.  It  was 
dated  at  Charlesport,  Maine,  and  stated  that  the 
writer,  in  conformity  with  the  last  wish  of  his  friend 
and  client,  Hercules  Thayer,  was  ready  to  transfer 
certain  deeds  and  papers  to  the  late  Mr.  Thayer's 
designated  heir,  Agatha  Redmond;  also  that  the 
writer  requested  an  interview  at  Miss  Redmond's 
earliest  convenience. 

Holding  the  half -opened  sheets  in  her  hand,  the 
lady  closed  her  eyes  and  sat  motionless,  as  if  in  the 
grasp  of  an  absorbing  thought.  With  the  disappear 
ing  child,  the  signs  of  life  on  the  hillside  had  dimin 
ished.  The  traffic  of  the  street  passed  far  below, 
the  sharp  click-click  of  a  pedestrian  now  and  then 
sounded  above,  but  no  one  passed  her  way.  The  hum 
of  the  city  made  a  blurred  wash  of  sound,  like  the 
varying  yet  steady  wash  of  the  sea.  As  she  opened 
her  eyes  again,  she  saw  that  the  twilight  had  per 
ceptibly  deepened.  Far  away,  lights  began  to  flash 
out  in  the  city,  as  if  a  million  fireflies,  by  twos  and 
threes  and  dozens,  were  waking  to  their  nocturnal 
revelry. 


6  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

On  the  hill  the  light  was  still  good,  and  the  lady 
turned  again  to  her  reading.  The  other  letter  was 
written  on  single  sheets  of  thin  paper  in  an  old- 
fashioned,  beautiful  hand.  Wherever  a  double-s 
occurred,  the  first  was  written  long,  in  the  style  of 
sixty  years  ago ;  and  the  whole  letter  was  as  easily 
legible  as  print.  Across  the  top  was  written :  "To 
Agatha  Redmond,  daughter  of  my  ward  and  dear 
friend,  Agatha  Shaw  Redmond";  and  below  that, 
in  the  lawyer's  choppy  handwriting,  was  a  date  of 
nearly  a  year  previous.  As  Agatha  Redmond  read 
the  second  letter,  a  smile,  half  of  sadness,  half  of 
pleasure,  overspread  her  countenance.  It  ran  as  fol 
lows: 

"!LION,  MAINE. 
"My  DEAR  AGATHA  : 

"I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  address  you,  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  dearest  friend  of  my  life,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  twenty-odd  years  of  your  existence.  Once  as 
a  child  you  saw  me,  and  you  have  doubtless  heard 
my  name  from  your  mother's  people  from  time  to 
time ;  but  I  can  scarcely  hope  that  any  knowledge  of 
my  private  life  has  come  to  you.  It  will  be  easy, 
then,  for  you  to  pardon  an  old  man  for  giving  you, 
in  this  fashion,  the  confidence  he  has  never  been  able 
to  bestow  in  the  flesh. 


TWILIGHT    IN    THE    PARK  7 

"When  you  read  this  epistle,  my  dear  Agatha,  I 
shall  have  stepped  into  that  next  mystery,  which  is 
Death.  Indeed,  the  duty  which  I  am  now  discharg 
ing  serves  as  partial  preparation  for  that  very  event. 
This  duty  is  to  make  you  heir  to  my  house  and  estate 
and  to  certain  accessory  funds  which  will  enable  you 
to  keep  up  the  place. 

"You  may  regard  this  act,  possibly,  as  the  idiosyn 
crasy  of  an  unbalanced  mind;  it  is  certain  that  some 
of  my  kinsfolk  will  do  so.  But  while  I  have  been 
able  to  bear  up  under  their  greater  or  less  displeasure 
for  many  years,  I  find  myself  shrinking  before  the 
possibility  of  dying  absolutely  unknown  and  forgot 
ten  by  you.  Your  mother,  Agatha  Shaw,  of  blessed 
memory  now  for  many  years,  was  my  ward  and 
pupil  after  the  death  of  your  grandfather.  I  think 
I  may  say  without  undue  self -congratulation  that 
few  women  of  their  time  have  enjoyed  as  sound  a 
scheme  of  education  as  your  mother.  She  had  a 
knowledge  of  mathematics,  could  construe  both  in 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  had  acquired  a  fair  mastery  of 
the  historic  civilization  of  the  Greeks,  Egyptians  and 
ancient  Babylonians.  While  these  attainments 
would  naturally  be  insufficient  for  a  man's  work  in 
life,  yet  for  a  woman  they  were  of  an  exceptional 
order. 

"Sufficient  to  say  that  in  your  mother's  character 
these  noteworthy  abilities  were  supplemented  by  gra- 


8  THE    STOLEN    SINGER* 

cious,  womanly  arts ;  and  when  she  arrived  at  matur 
ity,  I  offered  her  the  honor  of  marriage. 

"It  is  painful  for  me  to  recall  the  scene  and  the 
consequences  of  your  mother's  refusal  of  my  hand, 
even  after  these  years  of  philosophical  reflection.  It 
were  idle  for  a  man  of  parts  to  allow  a  mere  prefer 
ence  in  regard  to  his  domestic  situation  to  influence 
his  course  of  action  in  any  essential  matter,  and  I 
have  never  permitted  my  career  to  be  shaped  by  such 
details.  But  from  that  time,  however,  the  course  of 
my  life  was  changed.  From  the  impassioned  orator 
and  preacher  I  was  transformed  into  the  man  of 
books  and  the  study,  and  since  then  I  have  lived  far 
from  the  larger  concourses  of  men.  My  weekly 
sermon,  for  twenty  years,  has  been  the  essence  of  my 
weekly  toil  in  establishing  the  authenticity,  first,  of 
the  entire  second  gospel,  and  second,  of  the  ten 
doubtful  verses  in  the  fifteenth  chapter.  My  work 
is  now  accomplished — for  all  time,  I  believe. 

"From  the  inception  of  what  I  considered  my  life 
mission,  I  made  the  resolve  to  bequeath  to  Agatha 
Shaw  whatever  manuscripts  or  other  material  of 
value  my  work  should  lead  me  to  accumulate,  to 
gether  with  this  house,  in  which  I  have  spent  all  the 
later  years  of  my  life.  You  are  Agatha  Shaw's  only 
child,  therefore  to  me  a  foster-child. 

"Another  reason,  four  years  ago,  led  me  to  con 
firm  my  former  testament.  From  time  to  time  I 


TWILIGHT    IN    THE    PARK  9 

have  informed  myself  concerning  your  movements 
and  fortunes.  The  work  you  have  chosen,  my  dear 
Agatha,  I  can  but  believe  to  be  fraught  with  unusual 
dangers  to  a  young  woman.  Therefore  I  hope  that 
this  home,  modest  as  it  is,  may  tempt  you  to  an  early 
retirement  from  the  stage,  and  lead  you  to  a  more 
private  and  womanly  career.  This  I  make  only  as 
a  request,  not  as  a  condition.  I  bid  you  farewell, 
and  give  you  my  blessing. 

"Faithfully  yours, 

"HERCULES  THAYER." 


Agatha  Redmond  folded  the  thin  sheets  carefully. 
There  was  a  mist  in  her  gaze  as  she  looked  off  to 
ward  the  distant  city  lights. 

"Dear  old  gentleman !  His  whole  love-story,  and 
my  mother's,  too,  perhaps !"  Her  quickened  mem 
ory  recalled  childish  impressions  of  a  visit  to  a  large 
country  house  and  of  a  solemn  old  man — he  seemed 
incredibly  ancient  to  her — and  of  feeling  that  in 
some  way  she  and  her  mother  were  in  a  special  rela 
tionship  to  the  house.  It  was  called  "the  old  red 
house,"  and  was  full  of  fascinating  things.  The 
ancient  man  had  bidden  her  go  about  and  play  as  if 
it  were  her  home,  and  then  had  called  her  to  him 
and  laid  open  a  book,  leading  her  mind  to  regard  its 


io  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

mysteries.  Greek!  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had 
begun  it  there  and  then.  Later  the  mother  became 
the  teacher.  She  was  nursed,  as  it  were,  within 
sight  of  the  windy  plains  of  Troy  and  to  the  sound 
of  the  Homeric  hymns — and  all  by  reason  of  this 
ancient  scholar. 

There  was  a  vivid  picture  in  her  mind,  gathered 
at  some  later  visit,  of  a  soft  hillside,  a  small  white 
church  standing  under  its  balm-of-gilead  tree,  and 
herself  sitting  by  a  stone  in  the  old  churchyard,  lis 
tening  to  the  strains  of  a  hymn  which  floated  out 
from  the  high,  narrow  windows.  She  remembered 
how,  from  without,  she  had  joined  in  the  hymn, 
singing  with  all  her  small  might;  and  suddenly  the 
association  brought  back  to  her  a  more  recent  event 
and  a  more  beautiful  strain  of  music.  Half  in  rev 
erie,  half  in  conscious  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  a 
facile  organ,  she  began  to  sing : 

"Free  of  my  pain,  free  of  my  burden  of  sorrow, 
At  last  I  shall  see  thee— " 

The  song  floated  in  a  zone  of  silence  that  lay  above 
the  deep-murmuring  city.  The  voice  was  no  more 
than  the  half -voice  of  a  flute,  sweet,  gentle,  beguil 
ing.  It  told,  as  so  many  songs  tell,  of  little  earthly 


TWILIGHT   IN   THE   PARK  11 

Love  in  the  grasp  of  mighty  Fate.  Still  she  sang  on, 
softly,  as  if  loving  the  entrancing  melody. 

Suddenly  the  song  ceased,  and  the  reminiscent 
smile  gave  place  to  an  expression  of  surprise,  as  the 
singer  became  conscious  of  a  deeper  shadow  falling 
directly  in  front  of  her.  She  glanced  up  quickly,  and 
found  herself  looking  into  the  face  of  a  man  whose 
gimlet-like  gaze  was  directed  upon  herself. 

Quickly  as  she  rose,  she  could  not  turn  into  the 
path  before  the  gentleman,  hat  in  hand,  with  a  deep 
bow  and  clearly  enunciated  words,  arrested  her  im 
pulse  to  flight. 

"Pardon,  Mademoiselle,  I  am  a  stranger  in  the 
city.  I  was  directed  this  way  to  Van  Cortlandt  Hall, 
but  I  find  I  am  in  error,  intrigued — in  confusion. 
.Would  mademoiselle  be  so  good  as  to  direct  me  ?" 

The  tones  had  a  foreign  accent.  There  was  some 
thing,  also,  in  their  bland  impertinence  which  put 
Miss  Redmond  on  her  guard.  He  was  a  good-sized, 
blond  person,  carefully  dressed,  and  at  least  appeared 
like  a  gentleman. 

Miss  Redmond  looked  into  the  smooth,  neat  coun 
tenance,  upon  which  no  record  either  of  experience 
or  of  thought  was  engraved,  and  decided  fleetingly 
that  he  was  lying.  She  judged  him  capable  of  pick- 


12  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

ing  up  acquaintances  on  the  street,  but  thought  that 
more  originality  might  be  expected  of  him. 

Suddenly  she  wished  that  she  had  returned  sooner 
to  her  car,  for  though  she  was  of  an  adventurous 
nature,  her  bravery  was  not  of  the  physical  order; 
and  she  disliked  to  have  the  appearance  of  unconven- 
tionality.  After  the  first  minute  she  was  not  so  much 
afraid  as  annoyed.  Her  voice  became  frigid,  though 
her  dignity  was  somewhat  damaged  by  the  fact  that 
she  bungled  in  giving  the  desired  information. 

"I  think  monsieur  will  find  Van  Cortlandt  Hall  in 
the  College  grounds  two  blocks  south — no,  north — 
of  the  gateway  yonder,  at  the  upper  end  of  this 
walk." 

"Ah,  mademoiselle  is  but  too  kind!"  He  bowed 
deeply  again,  hat  still  in  hand.  "I  thank  you  pro 
foundly.  And  may  I  say,  also,  that  this  wonderful 
picture — "  here  he  spread  eloquent  hands  toward 
the  half -quiescent  city  whose  thousand  eyes  glim 
mered  over  the  lower  distance — "this  panorama  of 
occidental  life,  makes  a  peculiar  appeal  to  the  im 
agination?" 

The  springs  of  emotion,  touched  potently  as  they 
had  been  by  the  surging  recollections  of  the  last  half- 
hour,  were  faintly  stirred  again  in  Miss  Redmond's 


TWILIGHT    IN    THE   PARK  13 

heart  by  the  stranger's  grandiloquent  words.  Un 
consciously  her  features  relaxed,  though  she  did  not 
reply. 

"Again  I  pray  mademoiselle  to  pardon  me,  but 
only  a  moment  past  I  heard  the  song — the  song  that 
might  be  the  sigh  of  all  the  daughters  of  Italy.  Ah, 
Mademoiselle,  it  is  wonderful !  But  here  in  this  so 
fresh  country,  this  youthful,  boisterous,  too  prosper 
ous  country,  that  song  is  like — like — like  Arabian 
spices  in  a  kitchen.  Is  it  not  so?" 

Miss  Redmond  was  moving  up  the  steps  toward 
the  entrance,  hesitating  between  the  desire  to  snub 
her  interlocutor  and  to  avoid  the  appearance  of 
fright.  The  man,  meanwhile,  moved  easily  beside 
her,  courteously  distant,  discourteously  insistent  in 
his  prattle.  But  the  motor-car  was  now  not  far 
away. 

The  stranger  looked  appealingly  at  her,  seemingly 
sure  of  a  humorous  answering  look  to  his  pleasantry. 
It  was  not  wholly  denied.  She  yielded- to  a  touch  of 
amusement  with  a  cool  smile,  and  hastened  her  steps. 
The  man  kept  pace  without  effort.  Luckily,  the  car 
stood  only  a  few  feet  away,  with  Renaud,  or  rather 
Hand,  at  the  curb,  holding  open  the  door.  A  vague 
bow  and  a  lifting  of  the  hat,  and  apparently  the 


14  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

stranger  went  the  other  way.  She  felt  a  foolish  re 
lief,  and  at  the  same  instant  noted  with  surprise  that 
the  cover  of  her  car  had  been  raised. 

"Why  did  you  raise  the  top?" 

"It  appeared  to  me,  Mademoiselle,  that  it  was  like 
ly  to  rain." 

"Put  it  down  again.  It  will  not  rain,"  Miss  Red 
mond  was  saying,  when,  from  sidelong  eyes,  she  saw 
that  the  stranger  had  not  turned  in  the  other  direc 
tion,  after  all,  but  was  almost  in  her  tracks,  as  though 
he  were  stalking  game.  With  foot  on  the  step  she 
said  sharply,  but  in  a  low  voice,  "To  the  Plaza  quick 
ly,"  then  immediately  added,  with  a  characteristic 
practical  turn:  "But  don't  get  yourself  arrested  for 
speeding." 

"No,  Mademoiselle,  with  this  car  I  can  make — " 
Even  as  the  chauffeur  replied,  Miss  Redmond's 
sharpened  senses  detected  a  passage  of  glances  be 
tween  him  and  the  stranger,  now  close  behind  her. 

She  sprang  into  the  tonneau  and  seized  the  door, 
but  not  before  the  man  had  caught  at  it  with  a 
stronger  hold,  and  stepped  in  close  after  her.  The 
chauffeur  was  in  his  seat,  the  car  was  moving  slowly, 
now  faster  and  faster.  Suddenly  the  bland  counte 
nance  slid  very  near  her  own,  while  firm  hands 


TWILIGHT    IN   THE    PARK  15 

against  her  shoulders  crowded  her  into  the  farther 
corner  of  the  tonneau. 

"O  Renaud — Hand!"  she  cried,  but  the  driver 
made  no  sign.  "Help,  help !"  she  shrieked,  but  the 
cry  was  instantly  choked  into  a  feeble  protest.  A 
mass  of  something,  pressed  to  her  mouth  and  nos 
trils,  incited  her  to  superhuman  efforts.  She  strug 
gled  frantically,  fumbled  at  the  door,  tore  at  the 
curtain,  and  succeeded  in  getting  her  head  for  an  in 
stant  at  the  opening,  while  she  clutched  her  assailant 
and  held  him  helpless.  But  only  for  a  moment.  The 
firm  large  hands  quickly  overpowered  even  the 
strength  induced  by  frenzy,  and  in  another  minute 
she  was  lying  unresisting  on  the  soft  cushions  of  the 
tonneau. 

The  car  careened  through  the  streets,  the  figure  of 
the  unresponsive  Hand  mocked  her  cries  for  help, 
the  neat  hard  face  of  the  stranger  continued  to  bend 
over  her.  Then  everything  swam  in  a  maelstrom  of 
duller  and  duller  sense,  the  world  grew  darker  and 
fainter,  till  finally  it  was  lost  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  II 

HAMBLETON    OF   LYNN 

Hambletons  of  Lynn  had  not  distinguished 
themselves,  in  late  generations  at  least,  by  re 
markable  deeds,  though  their  deportment  was  such 
as  to  imply  that  they  could  if  they  would.  They 
frankly  regarded  themselves  as  the  elect  of  earth, 
if  not  of  Heaven,  always,  however,  with  a  becom 
ing  modesty.  Since  1636  the  family  had  pieced  out 
its  existence  in  the  New  World,  tenaciously  clinging 
to  many  of  its  old-country  habits.  It  had  kept  the 
b  in  the  family  name,  for  instance;  it  had  kept  the 
name  itself  out  of  trade,  and  it  had  indulged  its  love 
of  country  life  at  the  expense  of  more  than  one 
Hambleton  fortune. 

A  daughter-in-law  was  once  reported  as  saying 
that  it  would  have  been  a  good  thing  if  some  Ham 
bleton  had  embarked  in  trade,  since  in  that  case  they 
might  have  been  saved  from  devoting  themselves 
exclusively  to  an  illustration  of  polite  poverty.  She 

16 


HAMBLETON    OF    LYNN  17 

was  never  forgiven,  and  died  without  being  recon 
ciled  to  the  family.  As  to  the  spelling  of  the  name, 
the  family  claimed  ancestral  authority  as  far  back 
as  King  Fergus  the  First.  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  a  rela 
tive  by  marriage — a  woman  considered  by  the  best 
Hambletons  as  far  too  frank  and  worldly-minded — 
informed  the  family  that  King  Fergus  was  as  much 
a  myth  as  Dido,  and  innocently  brought  forth  printed 
facts  to  corroborate  her  statement.  One  of  the  ladies 
Hambleton  crushed  Mrs.  Van  Camp  by  stating,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  personal  conviction,  with  her  cap  awry, 
"So  much  the  worse  for  Dido !" 

A  salient  strength  persisted  in  the  Hambletons — 
a  strength  which  retained  its  character  in  spite  of 
cross-currents.  The  Hambleton  tone  and  the  Ham 
bleton  ideas  retained  their  family  color,  and  became, 
whether  worthily  or  not,  a  part  of  the  Hambleton 
pride.  More  than  one  son  had  lost  his  health  or  en 
tire  fortune,  which  was  apt  not  to  be  large,  in  at 
tempts  to  carry  on  a  country  place.  "A  Hambleton 
trait!"  they  chuckled,  with  as  much  satisfaction  as 
they  considered  it  good  form  to  exhibit.  In  Lynn, 
where  family  pride  did  not  bring  in  large  returns, 
this  phrase  became  almost  synonymous  with  gen 
teel  foolishness. 


18  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

<k 

••% 

The  Van  Camp  fortune,  which  came  near  but 
never  actually  into  the  family,  was  generally  under 
stood  to  have  been  made  in  shoes,  though  in  reality 
it  was  drugs. 

"People  say  'shoes'  the  minute  they  hear  the  word 
Lynn,  and  I'm  tired  of  explaining,"  Mrs.  Van  Camp 
put  it.  She  was  third  in  line  from  the  successful 
druggist,  and  could  afford,  if  anybody  could,  to  be 
supercilious  toward  trade.  But  she  wasn't,  even 
after  twenty  years  of  somewhat  restless  submission 
to  the  Hambleton  yoke.  And  it  was  she  who,  during 
her  last  visit  to  the  family  stronghold,  held  up  be 
fore  the  young  James  the  advantages  of  a  commer 
cial  career. 

"You're  a  nice  boy,  Jimsy,  and  I  can't  see  you 
turned  into  a  poor  lawyer.  You're  not  hard-headed 
enough  to  be  a  good  one.  As  for  being  a  minister, 
well — no.  Go  into  business,  dear  boy,  something 
substantial,  and  you'll  live  to  thank  your  stars." 

Jimsy  received  this  advice  at  the  time  with  small 
enthusiasm,  and  a  reservation  of  criticism  that  was 
a  credit  to  his  manners,  at  least.  But  the  time  came 
when  he  leaned  on  it. 

Her  own  child,  however,  Mrs.  Van  Camp  encour 
aged  to  a  profession  from  the  first.  "Aleck  isn't 


HAMBLETON    OF   LYNN  19 

smart  enough  for  business,  but  he  may  do  something 
as  a  student,"  was  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  somewhat  try 
ing  explanation;  and  Aleck  did  do  something  as  a 
student  Extremely  impatient  with  any  exhibition  of 
laziness,  the  mother  demanded  a  good  accounting  of 
her  son's  time.  Aleck  and  Jim,  who  were  born  in 
the  same  year,  ran  more  or  less  side  by  side  until  the 
end  of  college.  They  struggled  together  in  sports 
and  in  arguments,  "rushed"  the  same  girl  in  turn  or 
simultaneously,  and  spent  their  long  vacations  cruis 
ing  up  and  down  the  Maine  coast  in  a  thirty-foot 
sail-boat.  Once  they  made  a  more  ambitious  journey 
all  the  way  to  Yarmouth  and  the  Bay  of  Fundy  in  a 
good-sized  fishing-smack. 

But  when  college  was  done,  their  ways  separated. 
Mrs.  Van  Camp,  in  the  prime  of  her  unusual  facul 
ties,  died,  having  decorated  the  Hambleton  'scut 
cheon  like  a  gay  cockade  stuck  airily  up  into  the 
breeze.  She  had  no  part  nor  lot  in  the  family  pride, 
but  understood  it,  perhaps,  better  than  the  Ramble- 
tons  themselves.  Her  crime  was  that  she  played  with 
it.  Aleck,  a  full-fledged  biologist,  went  to  the  Little 
Hebrides  to  work  out  his  fresh  and  salad  theory 
concerning  the  nerve  system  of  the  clam. 

James,  third  son  of  John  and  Edith  Hambleton 


20  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

of  Lynn,  had  his  eyes  thoroughly  opened  in  the 
three  months  after  Commencement  by  a  considera 
tion  of  the  family  situation.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
from  babyhood  he  had  been  burningly  conscious  of 
the  pinching  and  skimping  necessary  to  maintain  the 
family  pride.  The  two  older  brothers  were  exempt 
from  the  scorching  process,  the  eldest  being  the 
family  darling  and  the  second  a  genius.  Neither  one 
could  rationally  be  expected,  "just  at  present,"  to 
take  up  the  family  accounts  and  make  the  income 
square  up  with  even  a  decently  generous  outgo.  And 
there  were  the  girls  yet  to  be  educated.  Jim  had  no 
special  talent  to  bless  himself  with,  either  in  art  or 
science.  He  was  inordinately  fond  of  the  sea,  but 
that  did  not  help  him  in  choosing  a  career.  He  had 
good  taste  in  books  and  some  little  skill  in  music. 
He  was,  indeed,  thrall  to  the  human  voice,  especially 
to  the  low  voice  in  woman,  and  he  was  that  best  of 
all  critics,  a  good  listener.  His  greatest  riches,  as 
well  as  his  greatest  charm,  lay  in  a  spirit  of  invin 
cible  youth ;  but  he  was  no  genius,  no  one  perceived 
that  more  clearly  than  himself. 

So  he  remembered  Clara  Van  Camp's  advice, 
wrote  the  whole  story  to  Aleck,  and  cast  about  for 
the  one  successful  business  chance  in  the  four  thou- 


HAMBLETON    OF   LYNN  21 

sand  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  bad  ones — as  the 
statistics  have  it. 

He  actually  found  it  in  shoes.  Foot-ball  muscle 
and  grit  went  into  the  job  of  putting  a  superior  shoe 
on  an  inferior  foot,  if  necessary — at  least  on  some 
foot.  He  got  a  chance  to  try  his  powers  in  the  home 
branch  of  a  manufacturing  house,  and  made  good. 
When  he  came  to  fill  a  position  where  there  was  op 
portunity  to  try  new  ideas,  he  tried  them.  He  in 
spected  tanneries  and  stockyards,  he  got  composite 
measurements  of  all  the  feet  in  all  the  women's  col 
leges  in  the  year  ninety-seven,  he  drilled  salesmen 
and  opened  a  night  school  for  the  buttonhole-makers, 
he  made  a  scientific  study  of  heels,  and  he  invented 
an  aristocratic  arch  and  put  it  on  the  market. 

The  family  joked  about  his  doings  as  the  harmless 
experiments  of  a  lively  boy,  but  presently  they  began 
to  enjoy  his  income.  Through  it  all  they  were  affec 
tionate  and  kind,  with  the  matter-of-course  fondness 
which  a  family  gives  to  the  member  that  takes  the 
part  of  useful  drudge.  John,  the  pet  of  the  par 
ents,  married,  and  had  his  own  eyes  opened,  it  is  to 
be  supposed.  Donald,  the  genius,  had  just  arrived, 
after  a  dozen  years  or  so,  at  the  stage  where  he  was 
mentioned  now  and  then  in  the  literary  journals. 


22  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

But  Jim  stuck  to  shoes  and  kept  the  family  on  a  fair 
tide  of  modest  prosperity. 

Once,  in  the  years  of  Jim's  apprenticeship  to  life, 
there  came  over  him  a  fit  of  soul-sickness  that  nearly 
proved  his  ruin. 

"I  can't  stand  this,"  he  wrote  Aleck  Van  Camp; 
"it's  too  hard  and  dry  and  sordid  for  any  man  that's 
got  a  soul.  It  isn't  the  grind  I  mind,  though  that  is 
bad  enough ;  it  is  the  'Commercial  Idea'  that  eats  into 
a  man's  innards.  He  forgets  there  are  things  that 
money  can't  buy,  and  in  his  heart  he  grows  con 
temptuous  of  anything  to  be  had  'without  money 
and  without  price.'  He  can't  help  it.  If  he  is  think 
ing  of  trade  nine-tenths  of  the  time,  his  mind  gets 
set  that  way.  I'm  ready  any  minute  to  jump  the 
fence,  like  father's  old  colt  up  on  the  farm.  I'm 
not  a  snob,  but  I  recognize  now  that  there  was  some 
reason  for  all  our  old  Hambleton  ancestors  being  so 
finicky  about  trade. 

"Do  you  remember  how  we  used  to  talk,  when 
we  were  kiddies,  about  keeping  our  ideals?  Well, 
I  believe  I'm  bankrupt,  Aleck,  in  my  account  with 
ideals.  I  don't  want  to  howl,  and  these  remarks 
idon't  go  with  anybody  else,  but  I  can  say  to  you,  I 
want  them  back  again." 


HAMBLETON   OF   LYNN  23 

Aleck  did  as  a  kiddie  should  do,  writing  much 
advice  on  long  sheets  of  paper,  and  illustrating  his 
points  richly,  like  a  good  Scotchman,  with  scientific 
instances.  A  month  or  two  later  he  contrived  to 
have  work  to  do  in  Boston,  so  that  he  could  go  out 
to  Lynn  and  look  up  Jimmy's  case.  He  even  de 
vised  a  cure  by  creating,  in  his  mind,  an  office  in  the 
biological  world  which  was  to  be  offered  to  James 
on  the  ground  that  science  needed  just  his  abilities 
and  training.  But  when  Aleck  arrived  in  Lynn  he 
found  that  Jim,  in  some  fashion  or  other,  had  found 
a  cure  for  himself.  He  was  deeper  than  ever  in  the 
business,  and  yet,  in  some  spiritual  sense,  he  had 
found  himself.  He  had  captured  his  ideal  again  and 
yoked  it  to  duty — which  is  a  great  feat. 

After  twelve  years  of  ferocious  labor,  with  no 
vacations  to  speak  of,  James's  mind  took  a  turn  for 
the  worse.  Physically  he  was  as  sound  as  a  bell, 
though  of  a  lath-like  thinness;  but  an  effervescing 
in  his  blood  lured  his  mind  away  from  the  study  of 
lasts  and  accounts  and  Parisian  models  and  sent  it 
careering,  like  Satan,  up  and  down  the  earth.  Ro 
mance,  which  had  been  drugged  during  the  transi 
tion  from  youth  to  manhood,  awoke  and  coaxed  for 
its  rights,  and  whispered  temptingly  in  an  ear  not 


24  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

yet  dulled  to  its  voice.  Freedom,  open  spaces, 
laughter,  the  fresh  sweep  of  the  wind,  the  high 
bucaneering  piracy  of  life  and  joy — these  things 
beglamoured  his  senses. 

So  one  day  he  locked  his  desk  with  a  final  click. 
The  business  was  in  good  shape.  It  is  but  justice 
to  say  that  if  it  had  not  been,  Romance  had  dangled 
her  luring  wisp  o'  light  in  vain.  Several  of  his  new 
schemes  had  worked  out  well,  his  subordinates  were 
of  one  mind  with  him,  trade  was  flourishing.  He 
felt  he  could  afford  a  little  spin. 

Jimsy's  radiating  fancies  focussed  themselves, 
at  last,  on  the  vision  of  a  trig  little  sail-boat,  "a  jug 
of  wine,  a  loaf  of  bread"  in  the  cabin,  with  pos 
sibly  the  book  of  verses  underneath  the  bow,  or 
more  suitably,  in  the  shadow  of  the  sail ;  and  Aleck 
Van  Camp  and  himself  astir  in  the  rigging  or  plung 
ing  together  from  the  gunwale  for  an  early  swim. 
"And  before  I  get  off,  I'll  hear  a  singer  that  can 
sing,"  he  declared. 

He  telegraphed  Aleck,  who  was  by  this  time  run 
ning  down  the  eyelid  of  the  squid,  to  meet  him  at 
his  club  in  New  York.  Then  he  made  short  work 
with  the  family.  Experience  had  taught  him  that 
an  attack  from  ambush  was  most  successful. 


HAMBLETON   OF   LYNN  25 

"Look  here,  Edith," — this  was  at  the  break 
fast-table  the  very  morning  of  his  departure.  Edith 
was  sixteen,  the  tallest  girl  in  the  academy,  almost 
ready  for  college  and  reckoned  quite  a  queen  in 
her  world — "You  be  good  and  do  my  chores  for 
me  while  I'm  away,  and  I'll  bring  you  home  a  duke. 
Take  care  of  mother's  bronchitis,  and  keep  the 
house  straight.  I'm  going  on  a  cruise." 

"All  right,  Jim" — Edith  could  always  be  counted 
on  to  catch  the  ball — "go  ahead  and  have  a  bully 
time  and  don't  drown  yourself.  I'll  drive  the  team 
straight  to  water,  mother  and  dad  and  the  whole 
outfit,  trust  me !" 

Considering  the  occasion  and  the  correctness  of 
the  sentiments,  Jim  forbore,  for  once,  from  making 
the  daily  suggestion  that  she  chasten  her  language. 
By  the  time  the  family  appeared,  Jim  had  laid  out 
a  rigid  course  of  action  for  Miss  Edith,  who  rose 
to  the  occasion  like  a  soldier. 

"Mother'll  miss  you,  of  course,  but  Jack  and 
Harold" — two  of  Edith's  admirers — "Jack  and 
Harold  can  come  around  every  day — stout  arm  to 
lean  upon,  that  sort  of  thing.  You  know  mother 
can't  be  a  bit  jolly  without  plenty  of  men  about,  and 
since  Sue  became  engaged  she  really  doesn't  count. 


26  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

The  boys  will  think  they  are  running  things,  of 
course,  but  they'll  see  my  iron  hand  in  the  velvet 
glove — you  can  throw  a  blue  chip  on  that,  JImsy. 
And  don't  kiss  me,  Jim,  for  Dorothy  Snell  and  I 
vowed,  when  we  wished  each  other's  rings  on — • 
Oh,  well,  brothers  don't  count." 

And  so,  amid  the  farewells  of  a  tender,  protesting 
family,  he  got  off,  leaving  Edith  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  her  monologues. 

There  was  a  telegram  in  New  York  saying  that 
Aleck  Van  Camp  would  join  him  in  three  days,  at 
the  latest.  Hambleton  disliked  the  club  and  left  it, 
although  his  first  intention  had  been  to  put  up  there. 
He  picked  out  a  modest,  up-town  hotel,  new  to  him, 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  had  a  pretty  name, 
The  Larue.  Then  he  began  to  consider  details. 

The  day  after  his  arrival  was  occupied  in  making 
arrangements  for  his  boat.  He  put  into  this  matter 
the  same  painstaking  buoyancy  that  he  had  put  into 
a  dull  business  for  twelve  years.  He  changed  his 
plans  half  a  dozen  times,  and  exceeded  them  wholly 
in  the  size  and  equipment  of  the  little  vessel,  and  in 
the  consequent  expense;  but  he  justified  himself, 
as  men  will,  by  a  dozen  good  reasons.  The  trig  little 
sail-boat  turned  out  to  be  a  respectable  yacht,  steam, 


HAMBLETON    OF   LYNN  27 

at  that.  She  was  called  the  Sea  Gull.  Neat  in  the 
beam,  stanch  in  the  bows,  rigged  for  coasting  and 
provided  with  a  decent  living  outfit,  she  was  "good 
enough  for  any  gentleman,"  in  the  opinion  of  the 
agent  who  rented  her.  Jim  was  half  ashamed  at 
giving  up  the  more  robust  scheme  of  sailing  his  own 
boat,  with  Aleck;  but  some  vague  and  expansive 
spirit  moved  him  "to  see,"  as  he  said,  "what  it  would 
be  like  to  go  as  far  and  as  fast  as  we  please."  While 
they  were  about  it,  they  would  call  on  some  cousins 
at  Bar  Harbor  and  get  good  fun  out  of  it. 

The  idea  of  his  holiday  grew  as  he  played  with 
it.  As  his  spin  took  on  a  more  complicated  char 
acter,  his  zest  rose.  He  went  forth  on  Sunday  feel 
ing  as  if  some  vital  change  was  impending.  His 
little  cruise  loomed  up  large,  important,  epochal. 
He  laughed  at  himself  and  thought,  with  his  cus 
tomary  optimism,  that  a  vacation  was  worth  wait 
ing  twelve  years  for,  if  waiting  endowed  it  with 
such  a  flavor.  Jim  knew  that  Aleck  would  relish 
the  spin,  too.  Aleck's  nature  was  that  of  a  grind 
tempered  with  sportiness.  Jim  sat  down  Sunday 
morning  and  wrote  out  the  whole  program  for 
Aleck's  endorsement,  sent  the  letter  by  special  de 
livery  and  went  out  to  reconnoiter. 


28  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

The  era  of  Sunday  orchestral  concerts  had  begun, 
but  that  day,  to  Jim's  regret,  the  singer  was  not  a 
contralto.  "Dramatic  Soprano"  was  on  the  pro 
gram;  a  new  name,  quite  unknown  to  Jim.  His 
interest  in  the  soloist  waned,  but  the  orchestra  was 
enough.  He  thanked  Heaven  that  he  was  past  the 
primitive  stage  of  thinking  any  single  voice  more 
interesting  than  the  assemblage  of  instruments 
known  as  orchestra. 

Hambleton  found  a  place  in  the  dim  vastness  of 
the  hall,  and  sank  into  his  seat  in  a  mood  of  vivid 
anticipation.  The  instruments  twanged,  the  audi 
ence  gathered,  and  at  last  the  music  began.  Its 
first  effect  was  to  rouse  Hambleton  to  a  sharp  at 
tention  to  details — the  director,  the  people  in  the 
orchestra,  the  people  in  the  boxes ;  and  then  he  set 
tled  down,  thinking  his  thoughts.  The  past,  the 
future,  life  and  its  meaning,  love  and  its  power,  the 
long,  long  thoughts  of  youth  and  ambition  and  de 
sire  came  flocking  to  his  brain.  The  noble  conflu 
ence  of  sound  that  is  music  worked  upon  him  its 
immemorial  miracle;  his  heart  softened,  his  imagi 
nation  glowed,  his  spirit  stirred.  Time  was  lost  to 
him — and  earth. 

The  orchestra  ceased,   but  Hambleton  did  not 


HAMBLETON   OF   LYNN  29 

heed  the  commotion  about  him.  The  pause  and  the 
fresh  beginning  of  the  strings  scarcely  disturbed  his 
ecstatic  reverie.  A  deep  hush  lay  upon  the  vast  as 
semblage,  broken  only  by  the  voices  of  the  violins. 
And  then,  in  the  zone  of  silence  that  lay  over  the 
listening  people — silence  that  vibrated  to  the  mem 
ory  of  the  strings — there  rose  a  little  song.  To 
Hambleton,  sitting  absorbed,  it  was  as  if  the  cir 
cuit  which  galvanized  him  into  life  had  suddenly 
been  completed.  He  sat  up.  The  singer's  lips  were 
slightly  parted,  and  her  voice  at  first  was  no  more 
than  the  half-voice  of  a  flute,  sweet,  gentle,  beguil 
ing.  It  was  borne  upward  on  the  crest  of  the  mel 
ody,  fuller  and  fuller,  as  on  a  flooding  tide. 


'Free  of  my  pain,  free  of  my  burden  of  sorrow, 
At  last  I  shall  see  thee — " 


There  was  freedom  in  the  voice,  and  the  sense  of 
space,  of  wind  on  the  waters,  of  life  and  the  love  of 
life. 

Jimsy  was  a  soft-hearted  fellow.  He  never  knew 
what  happened  to  him ;  but  after  uncounted  minutes 
he  seemed  to  be  choking,  while  the  orchestra  and 
the  people  in  boxes  and  the  singer  herself  swam  in 


30  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

a  hazy  distance.  He  shook  himself,  called  some 
body  he  knew  very  well  an  idiot,  and  laughed  aloud 
in  his  joy ;  but  his  laugh  did  not  matter,  for  it  was 
drowned  in  the  roar  of  applause  that  reached  the 
roof. 

Jim  did  not  applaud.  He  went  outdoors  to  think 
about  it;  and  after  a  time  he  found,  to  his  surprise, 
that  he  could  recall  not  only  the  song,  but  the  singer, 
quite  distinctly.  It  was  a  tall,  womanly  figure,  and 
a  fair,  bright  face  framed  abundantly  with  dark 
hair,  and  the  least  little  humorous  twitch  to  her 
lips.  And  her  name  was  Agatha  Redmond. 

"Of  course,  she  can  sing;  but  it  isn't  like  having 
the  real  thing — 'tisn't  an  alto,"  said  Jimsy  ungrate 
fully  and  just  from  habit. 

The  day's  experience  filled  his  thoughts  and 
quieted  his  restlessness.  He  awaited  Aleck  with 
entire  patience.  Monday  morning  he  spent  in  small 
necessary  business  affairs,  securing,  among  other 
things,  several  hundred  dollars,  which  he  put  in  his 
money-belt.  About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he 
left  his  hotel,  engaged  a  taxicab  and  started  for 
Riverside.  The  late  summer  day  was  fine,  with 
the  afternoon  haze  settling  over  river  and  town. 
He  watched  the  procession  of  carriages,  the  horse- 


HAMBLETON    OF   LYNN  31 

back  riders,  the  people  afoot,  the  children  playing 
on  the  grass,  with  a  feeling  of  comradeship.  Was 
he  not  also  tasting  freedom — a  lord  of -the  earth? 
His  gaze  traveled  out  to  the  river,  with  the  glimmer 
here  and  there  of  a  tug-boat,  a  little  steamer,  or  the 
white  sail  of  a  pleasure  craft.  The  blood  of  some 
seagoing  ancestor  stirred  in  his  veins,  and  he 
thrilled  at  the  thought  of  the  days  to  come  when 
his  prow  should  be  headed  offshore. 

The  taxicab  had  its  limitations,  and  Hambleton 
suddenly  became  impatient  of  its  monotonous  slith 
ering  along  the  firm  road.  Telling  the  driver  to  fol 
low  him,  he  descended  and  crossed  to  where  Cathe 
dral  Parkway  switches  off.  He  walked  briskly,  feel 
ing  the  tonic  of  the  sea  air,  and  circled  the  cathedral, 
where  workmen  were  lounging  away  after  their 
day's  toil.  The  unfinished  edifice  loomed  up  like 
a  giant  skeleton  of  some  prehistoric  era,  and 
through  its  mighty  open  arches  and  buttresses  Jim 
saw  fleecy  clouds  scudding  across  the  western  sky. 
A  stone  saint,  muffled  in  burlap,  had  just  been 
swung  up  into  his  windy  niche,  but  had  not  yet  dis 
carded  his  robes  of  the  world.  Hambleton  was  re 
garding  the  shapeless  figure  with  mild  interest,  won 
dering  which  saint  of  the  calendar  could  look  so 


32  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

grotesque,  when  a  sound  drew  his  attention  sharply 
to  earth.  It  was  a  small  sound,  but  there  was  some 
thing  strange  about  it.  It  was  startling  as  a  flash  in 
a  summer  sky. 

Besides  the  workmen,  there  was  no  living  thing 
in  sight  on  the  hillside  except  his  own  taxicab, 
swinging  slowly  into  the  avenue  at  that  moment, 
and  a  covered  motor-car  getting  up  speed  a  square 
away.  Even  as  the  car  approached,  Hambleton  de 
cided  that  the  strange  sound  had  proceeded  from 
its  ambushed  tonneau ;  and  it  was,  surely,  a  human 
voice  of  distress.  He  stepped  forward  to  the  curb. 
The  car  was  upon  him,  then  lumbered  heavily  and 
swiftly  past.  But  on  the  instant  of  its  passing  there 
appeared,  beneath  the  lifted  curtain  and  quite  near 
his  own  face,  the  face  of  the  singer  of  yesterday; 
and  from  pale,  agonized  lips,  as  if  with  dying 
breath,  she  cried,  "Help,  help!" 

Hambleton  knew  her  instantly,  although  the  dark 
abundance  of  her  hair  was  almost  lost  beneath  hat 
and  flowing  veil,  and  the  bright,  humorous  expres 
sion  was  blotted  out  by  fear.  He  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  rooted  to  the  curb,  watching  the  dark  mass 
of  the  car  as  it  swayed  down  the  hill.  Then  he 
beckoned  sharply  to  his  driver,  met  the  taxicab 


HAMBLETON   OF   LYNN  33 

half  way,  and  pointed  to  the  disappearing  machine. 

"Quick !    Can  you  overtake  it  ?" 

"I'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  run  down  one  o' 
them  Book  machines !"  said  the  driver. 


CHAPTER   III 

MIDSUMMER   MADNESS 

'  I  ^HE  driver  of  the  taxicab  proved  to  be  a  sound 
sport. 

Five  minutes  of  luck,  aided  by  nerve,  brought  the 
two  machines  somewhat  nearer  together.  The  mo 
tor-car  gained  in  the  open  spaces,  the  taxicab  caught 
up  when  it  came  to  weaving  its  way  in  and  out  and 
dodging  the  trolleys.  At  the  frequent  moments  when 
he  appeared  to  be  losing  the  car,  Hambleton  re 
flected  that  he  had  its  number,  which  might  lead  to 
something.  At  the  Waldorf  the  car  slowed  up,  and 
the  cab  came  within  a  few  yards.  Hambleton  made 
up  his  mind  at  that  instant  that  he  had  been  mis 
taken  in  his  supposition  of  trouble  threatening  the 
lady,  and  looked  momently  to  see  her  step  from  the 
car  into  the  custody  of  those  starched  and  lacquered 
menials  who  guard  the  portals  of  fashionable  hotels. 

But  it  was  not  so.  A  signal  was  interchanged 
between  the  occupants  of  the  car  and  some  watcher 

34 


MIDSUMMER   MADNESS  35 

in  the  doorway,  and  the  car  sped  on.  Hambleton, 
watching  steadily,  wondered! 

"If  she  is  being  kidnapped,  why  doesn't  she  make 
somebody  hear?  Plenty  of  chance.  They  couldn't 
have  killed  her — that  isn't  done." 

And  yet  his  heart  smote  him  as  he  remembered 
the  terror  and  distress  written  on  that  countenance 
and  the  cry  for  help. 

"Something  was  the  matter,"  memory  insisted. 
"There  they  go  west ;  west  Tenth,  Alexander  Street, 
Tenth  Avenue—" 

The  car  lumbered  on,  the  cab  half  a  block,  often 
more,  in  the  rear,  through  endless  regions  of  small 
shops  and  offices  huddled  together  above  narrow 
sidewalks,  through  narrow  and  winding  streets 
paved  with  cobblestones  and  jammed  with  cars  and 
trucks,  squeezing  past  curbs  where  dirty  children 
sat  playing  within  a  few  inches  of  death-dealing 
wheels.  Hambleton  wondered  what  kept  them  from 
being  killed  by  hundreds  daily,  but  the  wonder  was 
immediately  forgotten  in  a  new  subject  for  thought. 
The  cab  had  stopped,  although  several  yards  of 
clear  road  lay  ahead  of  it.  The  driver  was  climb 
ing  down.  The  motor-car  was  nosing  its  way  along 
nearly  a  block  ahead.  Hambleton  leaped  out. 


36  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Of  course,  we've  broken  down?"  he  mildly  in 
quired.  Deep  in  his  heart  he  was  superstitiously 
thinking  that  he  would  let  fate  determine  his  next 
move;  if  there  were  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  fur 
ther  quest,  well  and  good;  he  would  follow  the 
Face  no  longer. 

"If  you'll  wait  just  a  minute — "  the  driver  was 
saying,  "until  I  get  my  kit  out — " 

But  Hambleton,  looking  ahead,  saw  that  the  car 
had  disappeared,  and  his  mind  suddenly  veered. 

"Not  this  time,"  he  announced.  "Here,  the  meter 
says  four-twenty — you  take  this,  I'm  off."  He  put 
a  five-dollar  bill  into  the  hand  of  the  driver  and 
started  on  an  easy  run  toward  the  west. 

He  had  caught  sight  of  smoke-stacks  and  masts 
in  the  near  distance,  telling  him  that  the  motor-car 
had  almost,  if  not  quite,  reached  the  river.  Such  a 
vehicle  could  not  disappear  and  leave  no  trace;  it 
ought  to  be  easy  to  find.  Ahead  of  him  flaring 
lights  alternated  with  the  steady,  piercing  brilliance 
of  the  incandescents,  and  both  struggled  against  the 
lingering  daylight. 

A  heavy  policeman  at  the  corner  had  seen  the 
car.  He  pointed  west  into  the  cavernous  darkness 
of  the  wharves. 


MIDSUMMER    MADNESS  37 

"If  she  ain't  down  at  the  Imperial  docks  she's 
gone  plump  into  the  river,  for  that's  the  way  she 
went,"  he  insisted.  The  policeman  had  the  bearing 
of  a  major-general  and  the  accent  of  the  city  of 
Cork.  Hambleton  went  on  past  the  curving  street 
car  tracks,  dodged  a  loaded  dray  emerging  from 
the  dock,  and  threaded  his  way  under  the  shed.  He 
passed  piles  of  trunks,  and  a  couple  of  truckmen 
dumping  assorted  freight  from  an  ocean  liner.  No 
motor-car  or  veiled  lady,  nor  sound  of  anything  like 
a  woman's  voice.  Hambleton  came  out  into  the 
street  again,  looked  about  for  another  probable 
avenue  of  escape  for  the  car  and  was  at  the  point 
of  bafflement,  when  the  major-general  pounded  slow 
ly  along  his  way. 

"In  there,  my  son,  and  no  nice  place  either!" 
pointing  to  a  smaller  entrance  alongside  the  Im 
perial  docks,  almost  concealed  by  swinging  signs. 
It  was  plainly  a  forbidden  way,  and  at  first  sight 
appeared  too  narrow  for  the  passage  of  any  vehicle 
whatsoever.  But  examination  showed  that  it  was 
not  too  narrow ;  moreover,  it  opened  on  a  level  with 
the  street. 

"If  you  really  want  her,  she's  in  there,  though 
what'll  be  to  pay  if  you  go  in  there  without  a  per- 


38  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

mit,  I  don't  know.    I'd  hate  to  have  to  arrest  you." 

"It  might  be  the  best  thing  for  me  if  you  did,  but 
I'm  going  in.  You  might  wait  here  a  minute,  Cap 
tain,  if  you  will." 

"I  will  that;  more  especially  as  that  car  was  a 
stunner  for  speed  and  I  already  had  my  eye  on  her. 
I'd  like  to  see  you  fish  her  out  of  that  hole." 

But  Hambleton  was  out  of  earshot  and  out  of 
sight.  An  empty  passage  smelling  of  bilge-water 
and  pent-up  gases  opened  suddenly  on  to  the  larger 
dock.  Damp  flooring  with  wide  cracks  stretched 
off  to  the  left ;  on  the  right  the  solid  planking  ter 
minated  suddenly  in  huge  piles,  against  which  the 
water,  capped  with  scum  and  weeds,  splashed  fit 
fully.  The  river  bank,  lined  with  docks,  seemed 
lulled  into  temporary  quietness.  Ferry-boats 
steamed  at  their  labors  farther  up  and  down  the 
river,  but  the  currents  of  travel  left  here  and  there 
a  peaceful  quarter  such  as  this. 

Hambleton's  gaze  searched  the  dock  and  the  river 
in  a  rapid  survey.  The  dock  itself  was  dim  and 
vast,  with  a  few  workmen  looking  like  ants  in  the 
distance.  It  offered  nothing  of  encouragement ;  but 
on  the  river,  fifty  yards  away,  and  getting  farther 
away  every  minute,  was  a  yacht's  tender.  The 


MIDSUMMER  MADNESS  39 

figures  of  the  two  rowers  were  quite  distinct,  their 
oars  making  rhythmical  flashes  over  the  water,  but 
it  was  impossible  to  say  exactly  what  freight,  human 
or  otherwise,  it  carried.  It  was  evident  that  there 
were  people  aboard,  possibly  several.  Even  as  Ham- 
bleton  strained  his  eyes  to  see,  the  outlines  of  the 
rowboat  merged  into  the  dimness.  It  was  pointed 
like  a  gun  toward  a  large  yacht  lying  at  anchor 
farther  out  in  the  stream.  The  vessel  swayed  pret 
tily  to  the  current,  and  slowly  swung  its  dim  light 
from  the  masthead. 

"They've  got  her — out  in  that  boat,"  said  Ham- 
bleton  to  himself,  feeling,  while  the  words  were  on 
his  lips,  that  he  was  drawing  conclusions  unwar 
ranted  by  the  evidence.  Thus  he  stood,  one  foot 
on  the  slippery  log  siding  of  the  dock,  watching 
while  the  little  drama  played  itself  out,  so  far  as 
his  present  knowledge  could  go.  His  judgment 
still  hung  in  suspense,  but  his  senses  quickened 
themselves  to  detect,  if  possible,  what  the  outcome 
might  be.  He  saw  the  tender  approach  the  boat, 
lie  alongside;  saw  one  sailor  after  another  descend 
the  rope  ladder,  saw  a  limp,  inert  mass  lifted  from 
the  rowboat  and  carried  up,  as  if  it  had  been  mer 
chandise,  to  the  deck  of  the  yacht ;  saw  two  men  fol- 


40  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

low  the  limp  bundle  over  the  gunwale;  and  finally 
saw  the  boat  herself  drawn  up  and  placed  in  her 
davits.  Hambleton's  mind  at  last  slid  to  its  con 
clusion,  like  a  bolt  into  its  socket. 

"They're  kidnapping  her,  without  a  doubt,"  he 
said  slowly.  For  a  moment  he  was  like  one  struck 
stupid.  Slowly  he  turned  to  the  dock,  looking  up 
and  down  its  orderly  but  unprepossessing  clutter. 
Dim  lights  shone  here  and  there,  and  a  few  hands 
were  at  work  at  the  farther  end.  The  dull  silence, 
the  unresponsive  preoccupation  of  whatever  life  was 
in  sight,  made  it  all  seem  as  remote  from  him  and 
from  this  tragedy  as  from  the  stars. 

In  fact,  it  was  impersonal  and  remote  to  such  a 
degree  that  Hambleton's  practical  mind  halted  yet 
an  instant,  in  doubt  whether  there  were  not  some 
plausible  explanation.  The  thought  came  back  to 
him  suddenly  that  the  motor-car  must  be  somewhere 
in  the  neighborhood  if  his  conclusion  were  correct. 

On  the  instant  his  brain  became  active  again.  It 
did  not  take  long,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  to  find  the 
car;  though  when  he  stumbled  on  it,  turned  about 
and  neatly  stowed  away  close  beside  the  partition 
ing  wall,  he  gave  a  start.  It  was  such  a  tangible 
evidence  of  what  had  threatened  to  grow  vague  and 


MIDSUMMER   MADNESS  41 

unreal  on  his  hands.  He  squeezed  himself  into  the 
narrow  space  between  it  and  the  wall,  finally  thrust 
ing  his  head  under  the  curtains  of  the  tonneau. 

It  was  high  and  dry,  empty  as  last  year's  cockle 
shell.  Not  a  sign  of  life,  not  a  loose  object  of  any 
kind  except  a  filmy  thing  which  Hambleton  found 
himself  observing  thoughtfully.  At  last  he  picked 
it  up — a  long,  mist-like  veil.  He  spread  it  out, 
held  it  gingerly  between  a  thumb  and  finger  of 
each  hand,  and  continued  to  look  at  it  abstractedly. 
Part  of  it  was  clean  and  whole,  dainty  as  only  a  bit 
of  woman's  finery  can  be;  but  one  end  of  it  was 
torn  and  twisted  and  stretched  out  of  all  semblance 
to  itself.  Moreover,  it  was  dirty,  as  if  it  had  been 
ground  under  a  muddy  heel.  It  was,  in  its  way,  a 
shrieking  evidence  of  violence,  of  unrighteous  strug 
gle.  Hambleton  folded  the  scarf  carefully,  with 
its  edges  together,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Jimmy's  actions  from  this  time  on  had  an  in 
centive  and  a  spirit  that  had  before  been  lacking. 
He  noted  again  the  number  of  the  car,  and  returned 
to  the  edge  of  the  dock  to  observe  the  yacht.  She 
had  steamed  up  river  a  little  way  for  some  reason 
known  only  to  herself,  and  was  now  turning  very 
slowly.  She  was  but  faintly  lighted,  and  would 


42  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

pass  for  some  pleasure  craft  just  coming  home. 
But  Jim  knew  better.  He  could,  at  last,  put  two 
and  two  together.  He  would  follow  the  Face — in 
deed,  he  could  not  help  following  it.  In  him  had 
begun  that  divine  experience  of  youth — of  youth 
essentially,  whether  it  come  in  early  years  or  late — 
of  being  carried  off  his  feet  by  a  spirit  not  himself. 
He  ran  like  a  young  athlete  down  the  dock  to  the 
nearest  workman,  evolving  schemes  as  he  went. 

The  dock-hand  apathetically  trundled  a  small  keg 
from  one  pile  of  freight  to  another,  wiped  his  hands 
on  his  trousers,  took  a  dry  pipe  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  looked  vacantly  up  the  river  before  he  replied 
to  Hambleton's  question. 

"Queer  name — Jene  Dark  they  call  her." 

It  was  like  pulling  teeth  to  get  information  out  of 
him,  but  Jim  applied  the  forceps. 

The  yacht  had  been  lying  out  in  the  river  for  two 
weeks  or  more,  possibly  less;  belonged  to  foreign 
parts ;  no  one  thereabouts  knew  who  its  owner  was ; 
nor  its  captain;  nor  its  purpose  in  the  harbor  of 
New  York.  At  last,  quite  gratuitously,  the  man 
volunteered  a  personal  opinion.  "Slippery  boat  in  a 
gale — wouldn't  trust  her." 

Hambleton  walked  smartly  back,  taking  a  look 


MIDSUMMER   MADNESS  43 

both  at  the  yacht  and  the  motor-car  as  he  went. 
The  yacht's  nose  pointed  toward  the  Jersey  shore; 
the  car  was  creeping  out  of  the  dock.  As  he  over 
took  the  machine,  he  saw  that  it  was  in  the  hands 
of  a  mechanic  in  overalls  and  jumper.  In  answer 
to  Hambleton's  question  as  to  the  owner  of  the  car, 
the  mechanic  told  him  pleasantly  to  go  to  the  devil, 
and  for  once  the  sight  of  a  coin  failed  to  produce 
any  perceptible  effect.  But  the  major-general,  wait 
ing  half  a  block  away,  was  still  in  the  humor  of 
giving  fatherly  advice.  He  welcomed  Jim  heartily. 

"That's  a  hole  I  ain't  got  no  use  for.  'Ow'd  you 
make  out?" 

"Well  enough,  for  all  present  purposes.  Can  you 
undertake  to  do  a  job  for  me?" 

"If  it  ain't  nothing  I'd  have  to  arrest  you  for,  I 
might  consider  it,"  he  chuckled. 

"I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Laramie  Club  and  tell 
Aleck  Van  Camp — got  the  name? — that  Hamble- 
ton  has  gone  off  on  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  and  may  not 
be  back  for  some  time;  and  he  is  to  look  after  the 
Sea  Gull!9 

"Hold  on,  young  man;  you're  not  going  to  do 
anything  out  of  reason,  as  one  might  say  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all ;  most  reasonable  thing  in  the 


44  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

world.  You  take  this  money  and  be  sure  to  get  the 
message  to  Mr.  Van  Camp,  will  you?  All  right. 
Now  tell  me  where  I  can  find  a  tug-boat  or  a  steam 
launch,  quick." 

"O'Leary,  down  at  pier  X — 2 — O  has  launches 
and  everything  else.  All  right,  my  son,  Aleck  Van 
Camp,  at  the  Laramie.  But  you  be  good  and  don't 
drown  yourself." 

This  last  injunction,  word  for  word  in  the  man 
ner  of  the  pert  Edith,  touched  Jimmy's  humor.  He 
laughed  ringingly.  His  spirit  was  like  a  chime  of 
bells  on  a  week-day. 

The  hour  which  followed  was  one  that  James 
Hambleton  found  it  difficult  to  recall  afterward, 
with  any  degree  of  coherence;  but  at  the  time  his 
movements  were  mathematically  accurate,  swift,  ef 
fective.  He  got  aboard  a  little  steam  tug  and  fol 
lowed  the  yacht  down  the  river  and  into  the  harbor. 
As  she  stood  out  into  the  roads  and  began  to  in 
crease  her  speed,  he  directed  the  captain  of  the  tug 
to  steam  forward  and  make  as  if  to  cross  her  bows. 
This  would  make  the  pilot  of  the  yacht  angry,  but 
he  would  be  forced  to  slow  down  a  trifle.  Jim 
watched  long  enough  to  see  the  success  of  his 
manceuver,  then  went  down  into  the  cuddy  which 


MIDSUMMER   MADNESS  45 

served  as  a  cabin,  took  off  most  of  his  clothes,  and 
looked  to  the  fastenings  of  his  money  belt.  Then 
he  watched  his  chance,  and  when  the  tug  was  pretty 
nearly  in  the  path  of  the  yacht,  he  crept  to  the  stern 
and  dropped  overboard. 


CHAPTER   IV 

MR.  VAN  CAMP  MAKES  A  CALL 

ALECK  VAN  CAMP  turned  from  the  clerk's 
^"^desk,  rather  relieved  to  find  that  Hambleton 
had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  Aleck  had  an 
errand  on  his  mind,  and  he  reflected  that  Jim  was 
apt  to  be  impetuous  and  reluctant  to  await  another 
man's  convenience;  at  least,  Jim  wouldn't  perceive 
that  another  man's  convenience  needed  to  be  waited 
for;  and  Aleck  had  no  mind  to  announce  this  er 
rand  from  the  housetops.  It  was  not  a  business 
that  pertained,  directly,  either  to  the  Sea  Gull  or  to 
the  coming  cruise. 

He  made  an  uncommonly  careful  toilet,  discard 
ing  two  neckties  before  the  operation  was  finished. 
When  all  was  done  the  cravat  presented  a  stuffed 
and  warped  appearance  which  was  not  at  all  satisfy 
ing,  even  to  Aleck's  uncritical  eye;  but  the  tie  was 
the  last  of  his  supply  and  was,  perhaps,  slightly  bet 
ter  than  none  at  all. 


MR.    VAN    CAMP   MAKES   A   CALL    47 

Dinner  at  the  club  was  usually  a  dull  affair,  and 
to  Mr.  Van  Camp,  on  this  Monday  night,  it  seemed 
more  stupid  than  ever.  The  club  had  been  organ 
ized  in  the  spirit  of  English  clubs,  with  the  unwrit 
ten  by-law  of  absolute  and  inviolable  privacy  for  the 
individual.  No  wild  or  woolly  manners  ever  entered 
those  decorous  precincts.  No  slapping  on  the  shoul 
der,  no  hail-fellow  greetings,  no  chance  dinner  com 
panionship  ever  dispelled  the  awful  penumbra  of 
privacy  that  surrounded  even  the  humblest  member. 
A  man's  eating  and  drinking,  his  coming  or  going, 
his  living  or  dying,  were  matters  only  for  club  sta 
tistics,  not  for  personal  inquiry  or  notice. 

The  result  of  this  habitual  attitude  on  the  part 
of  the  members  of  the  club  and  its  servants  was  an 
atmosphere  in  which  a  cataleptic  fit  would  scarcely 
warrant  unofficial  interference;  much  less  would 
merely  mawkish  or  absent-minded  behavior  attract 
attention.  That  was  the  function  of  the  club — to 
provide  sanctuary  for  personal  whims  and  idiosyn 
crasies  ;  of  course,  always  within  the  boundaries  of 
the  code. 

On  the  evening  in  question  Mr.  Van  Camp  did 
not  actually  become  silly,  but  his  manner  lacked  the 
poise  and  seriousness  which  sophisticated  men  are 


48  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

wont  to  bring  to  the  important  event  of  the  day.  He 
was  as  near  being  nervous  as  a  Scotch-American 
Van  Camp  could  be;  and  at  the  same  time  he  felt 
an  unwonted  flow  of  life  and  warmth  in  his  cool 
veins.  He  went  so  far  as  to  make  a  remark  to  the 
waiter  which  he  meant  for  an  affable  joke,  and 
then  wanted  to  kick  the  fellow  for  taking  it  so 
solemnly. 

"You  mind  yourself,  George,  or  they'll  make  you 
abbot  of  this  monastery  yet !"  said  Aleck,  as  George 
helped  him  on  with  his  evening  coat. 

"Yes,  sir,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  George. 

He  left  word  at  the  office  that  in  case  any  one 
called  he  was  to  be  informed  that  Mr.  Van  Camp 
would  return  to  the  club  for  the  night ;  then,  in  his 
silk  hat  and  generally  shining  togs,  he  set  forth  to 
make  a  call.  He  was  no  stranger  to  New  York, 
and  usually  he  took  his  cities  as  they  came,  with  a 
matter-of-fact  nonchalance.  He  would  be  as  much 
at  home  on  his  second  day  in  London  as  he  had 
ever  been  in  Lynn ;  or  he  would  go  from  a  friend's 
week-end  house-party,  where  the  habits  of  a  Sybarite 
were  forced  on  him,  to  a  camp  in  the  woods  and 
pilot-bread  fare,  with  an  equal  smoothness  of  tem 
per  and  enjoyment.  Since  luxury  made  no  impres- 


MR.    VAN    CAMP    MAKES    A   CALL    49 

sion  on  him,  and  hardship  never  blunted  his  own 
ideals  of  politeness  or  pleasure,  no  one  ever  knew 
which  life  he  preferred. 

Choosing  to  walk  the  fifteen  or  twenty  squares 
to  the  Archangel  apartment  house,  his  destination, 
Van  Camp  looked  about  him,  on  this  night  of  his 
arrival,  with  slightly  quickened  perceptions.  He 
cast  a  mildly  appreciative  eye  toward  the  picture 
disclosed  here  and  there  by  the  glancing  lights,  the 
chiaroscuro  of  the  intersecting  streets,  the  con 
stantly  changing  vistas.  For  an  unimpressionable 
man,  he  was  rather  wrought  upon.  Nevertheless, 
he  entered  the  charming  apartment  whither  he  was 
bound  with  the  detached  and  composed  manner 
which  society  regards  as  becoming.  A  maid  with 
a  foreign  accent  greeted  him.  Yes,  Mademoiselle 
Reynier  was  at  home;  Mr.  Van  Camp  would  find 
her  in  the  drawing-room. 

The  stiff  and  unrelaxed  manner  with  which  Mr. 
Van  Camp  bowed  to  Miss  Reynier  a  moment  later 
was  not  at  all  indicative  of  the  fairly  respectable 
fever  within  his  Scotch  breast.  Miss  Reynier  her 
self  was  pretty  enough  to  cause  quickened  pulses. 
She  was  of  noble  height,  evidently  a  woman  of  the 
world.  She  gave  Mr.  Van  Camp  her  hand  in  a 


50  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

greeting  mingled  of  European  daintiness  and  Amer 
ican  frankness.  Her  vitality  and  abounding  interest 
in  life  were  manifest. 

"Ah,  but  you  are  very  late.  This  is  how  you  be 
come  smart  all  at  once  in  your  New  York  atmos 
phere  !  But  pray  be  seated ;  and  here  are  cigarettes, 
if  you  will.  No?  Very  well;  but  tell  me;  has  that 
amorphous  gill-slit — oh,  no,  the  branchial  lamella — 
has  it  behaved  itself  and  proved  to  be  the  avenue 
which  shall  lead  you  to  fame  ?" 

Mr.  Van  Camp  stood  silent  through  this  flippant 
badinage,  and  calmly  waited  until  Miss  Reynier  had 
settled  herself.  Then  he  thoughtfully  turned  the 
chair  offered  him  so  as  to  command  a  slightly  better 
view  of  the  corner  where  she  sat,  leaning  against 
the  old-rose  cushions.  Finally,  taking  his  own  time, 
he  touched  off  her  greeting  with  his  precise  drawl. 

"I'm  not  smart,  as  you  call  it,  even  in  New  York, 
though  I  try  to  be."  His  eyes  twinkled  and  his 
teeth  gleamed  in  his  wide  smile.  "If  I  were  smart, 
I'd  pass  by  your  error  in  scientific  nomenclature,  but 
really  I  ought  not  to  do  it.  If  one  can  not  be  ex 
act—" 

"That's  just  what  I  say.  If  one  can  not  be  exact, 
why  talk  at  all?"  Miss  Reynier  caught  it  up  with 


MR.    VAN    CAMP    MAKES    A   CALL    51 

high  glee.  She  had  a  foreign  accent,  and  an  occa 
sional  twist  of  words  which  proved  her  to  be  neither 
American  nor  Englishwoman.  "That's  my  prin 
ciple,"  she  insisted.  "Leave  other  people  in  undis 
turbed  possession  of  their  hobbies,  especially  in  con 
versation,  and  don't  say  anything  if  you  can't  say 
what  you  mean.  But  then,  you  won't  talk  about 
your  hobby;  and  if  I  have  no  one  to  inform  me, 
how  can  I  be  exact?  But  I'm  the  meekest  person 
alive ;  I'm  so  ready  to  learn." 

Mr.  Van  Camp  surveyed  first  the  bantering,  al 
luring  eyes,  then  turned  his  gaze  upon  the  soft  luxu 
ries  about  them. 

"Are  you  ready  to  turn  this  bijou  dream  into  a 
laboratory  smelling  of  alcohol  and  fish?  Are  you 
ready  to  spend  hours  wading  in  mudbanks  after 
specimens,  or  scratching  in  the  sand  under  the  broil 
ing  sun?  Science  does  not  consult  comfort." 

Miss  Reynier's  expression  of  quizzical  teasing 
changed  to  one  of  rather  thoughtful  inquiry,  as  if 
she  were  estimating  the  man  behind  the  scientist. 
Van  Camp  was  of  the  lean,  angular  type,  like  Jim 
Hambleton.  He  was  also  very  manly  and  whole 
some,  but  even  in  his  conventional  evening  clothes 
there  was  something  about  him  that  was  unconven-( 


52  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

tional — a  protesting,  untamed  element  of  character 
that  resisted  all  rules  except  those  prescribed  by  it 
self.  He  puzzled  her  now,  as  he  had  often  puzzled 
her  before;  but  if  she  made  fun  of  his  hobbies,  she 
had  no  mind  to  make  fun  of  the  man  himself.  A 
cheerful,  intelligent  smile  finally  ended  her  contem 
plating  moment. 

"Oh,  no ;  no  digging  in  the  sand  for  me.  I'll  take 
what  science  I  get  in  another  way — put  up  in  pre- 
digested  packages  or  bottled — any  way  but  the  fishy 
way.  But  please  don't  give  me  up.  You  shed  a 
good  deal  of  light  on  my  mental  darkness  last  winter 
in  Egypt,  and  maybe  I  can  improve  still  more." 
She  suddenly  turned  with  friendly,  confidential 
manner  toward  Aleck,  not  waiting  for  replies  to 
her  remarks.  "It's  good  to  see  you  again !  And  I 
like  it  here  better  than  in  Egypt,  don't  you  ?  Don't 
you  think  this  apartment  jolly  ?" 

The  shaded  lamps  made  a  pretty  light  over  Miss 
Reynier's  cream-colored  silk  flounces,  over  the  deli 
cate  lace  on  her  waist,  over  her  glossy  dark  hair  and 
spirited  face.  As  Aleck  contemplated  that  face, 
with  its  eager  yet  modest  and  womanly  gaze,  and 
the  noble  outline  of  her  figure,  he  thought,  with 
an  unwonted  flowering  of  imagination,  that  she 


MR.    VAN    CAMP    MAKES    A   CALL    53 

was  not  unlike  the  Diana  of  classic  days.  "A  do 
mestic  Diana,"  he  added  in  his  mind.  "She  may 
love  the  woods  and  freedom,  but  she  will  always 
return  to  the  hearth." 

Aloud  he  said:  "If  you  will  permit  me,  Miss 
Reynier,  I  would  like  to  inform  you  at  once  of  the 
immediate  object  of  my  visit  here.  You  must  be 
well  aware — "  At  this  point  Mr.  Van  Camp,  who, 
true  to  his  nature,  was  looking  squarely  in  the  face 
of  his  companion,  of  necessity  allowed  himself  to 
be  interrupted  by  Miss  Reynier's  lifted  hand.  She 
was  looking  beyond  her  visitor  through  the  draw 
ing-room  door. 

"Mr.  Chamberlain  and  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones,"  an 
nounced  the  servant. 

As  Miss  Reynier  swept  forward  with  outstretched 
hand  to  greet  the  new-comers,  Van  Camp  fixed  his 
eyes  on  his  hostess  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
masculine  rage  and  submission.  Whether  he 
thought  her  too  cordial  toward  the  other  men  or 
too  cool  toward  himself,  was  not  apparent.  Pres 
ently  he,  too,  was  shaking  hands  with  the  visitors, 
who  were  evidently  old  friends  of  the  house.  Ma 
dame  Reynier,  the  aunt  of  mademoiselle,  was  sum 
moned,  and  Van  Camp  was  marooned  on  a  sofa 


54  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

with  Lloyd- Jones,  who  was  just  in  from  the  West. 
Aleck  found  himself  listening  to  an  interminable 
talk  about  copper  veins  and  silver  veins,  a  new  kind 
of  assaying  instrument,  and  the  good  luck  attendant 
upon  the  opening  of  Lloyd-Jones'  new  mine,  the 
Liza  Lu. 

Aleck  was  the  essence  of  courtesy  to  everything 
except  sham,  and  was  able  to  indicate  a  mild  interest 
in  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones*  mining  affairs.  It  was  suf 
ficient.  Lloyd- Jones  turned  side  wise  on  his  end  of 
the  sofa,  spread  out  plump,  gesticulating  hands,  and 
poured  upon  him  an  eloquent  torrent  of  fact,  spec 
ulation  and  high-spirited  enthusiasm  concerning 
Idaho  in  general  and  the  future  of  the  Liza  Lu  in 
particular.  More  than  that,  by  and  by  his  cheerful, 
half-impudent  manner  threatened  to  turn  poetic. 

"It's  great,  living  in  the  open  out  there,"  he  went 
on,  by  this  time  including  the  whole  company  in 
his  exordium.  "You  ride,  or  tramp,  or  dig  rock 
all  day;  and  at  night  you  lie  down  under  the  clear 
stars,  thankful  for  your  blanket  and  your  rock-bed 
and  your  camp-fire;  and  more  than  thankful  if 
there's  a  bit  of  running  water  near  by.  It's  a  great 
life!" 

Miss  Reynier  listened  to  him  with  eyes  that  were 


MR.    VAN   CAMP   MAKES    A   CALL    55 

alternately  puzzled  and  appreciative.  It  was  a  dis 
course  that  would  have  seemed  to  her  much  more 
natural  coming  from  Aleck  Van  Camp;  but  then, 
Mr.  Van  Camp  really  did  the  thing — that  sort  of 
thing — and  he  rarely  talked  about  it.  It  had  prob 
ably  been  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones'  first  essay  in  the  world 
out  of  reach  of  his  valet  and  a  club  cocktail;  and  he 
was  consequently  impressed  with  his  achievement. 
It  was  evident  that  Miss  Reynier  and  the  amateur 
miner  were  on  friendly  terms,  though  Aleck  had 
not  seen  or  heard  of  him  before.  He  had  hob 
nobbed  with  Mr.  Chamberlain  in  London  and  on 
more  than  one  scientific  jaunt.  The  slightest  flicker 
of  jealous  resentment  gleamed  in  Aleck's  eyes,  but 
his  speech  was  as  slow  and  precise  as  ever. 

"I  was  just  trying  to  convince  Miss  Reynier  that 
outdoor  life  has  its  peculiar  joys,"  he  said.  "I  was 
even  now  suggesting  that  she  should  dig,  though 
not  for  silver.  Does  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones'  lucre  seem 
more  alluring  than  my  little  wriggly  beasts,  Miss 
Reynier?" 

If  Aleck  meant  this  speech  for  a  trap  to  force 
the  young  woman  to  indicate  a  preference,  the  trick 
failed,  as  it  deserved  to  fail.  Miss  Reynier  was 
able  to  play  a  waiting  game. 


56  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

"I  couldn't  endure  either  your  mines  or  your  mud- 
puddles.  You  are  both  absurd,  and  I  don't  under 
stand  how  you  ever  get  recruits  for  your  hobbies. 
But  come  over  and  see  this  new  engraving,  Mr. 
Jones;  it's  an  old-fashioned  picture  of  your  be 
loved  Rhine." 

Aleck,  thus  liberated  from  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones  and 
his  mines,  made  his  way  across  the  room  to  Madame 
Reynier.  The  cunning  of  old  Adam  was  in  his  eye, 
but  otherwise  he  was  the  picture  of  deferential  in 
nocence. 

Madame  Reynier  liked  Aleck,  with  his  inoffensive 
Americanisms  and  unfailing  kindliness;  and  with 
her  friends  she  was  frankness  itself.  With  two 
men  on  Miss  Reynier's  hands  for  entertainment,  it 
seemed  to  Aleck  unlikely  that  either  one  could  make 
any  alarming  progress.  Besides,  he  was  glad  of  a 
tete-a-tete  with  the  chaperone. 

Madame  Reynier  was  a  tall,  straight  woman, 
elderly,  dressed  entirely  in  black,  with  gaunt,  aristo 
cratic  features  and  great  directness  of  speech.  She 
had  the  fine  kind  of  hauteur  which  forbids  persons 
of  this  type  ever  to  speak  of  money,  of  disease,  of 
scandal,  or  of  too  intimate  personalities ;  in  Madame 
Reynier's  case  it  also  restrained  her  from  every  sort 


MR.    VAN    CAMP   MAKES   A   CALL    57 

of  exaggerated  speech.     She  spoke  English  with 
some  difficulty  and  preferred  French. 

Van  Camp  seated  himself  on  a  spindle-legged,  gilt 
chair  by  Madame  Reynier's  side,  and  begged  to 
know  how  they  were  enduring  the  New  York  cli 
mate,  which  had  formerly  proved  intolerable  to 
Madame  Reynier.  As  he  seated  himself  she 
stretched  out  saving  hands. 

"I  can  endure  the  climate,  thank  you;  but  I  can't 
endure  to  see  your  life  endangered  on  that  silly 
chair,  my  dear  Mr.  Van  Camp.  There — thank 
you."  And  when  he  was  seated  in  a  solid  mahog 
any,  he  was  rewarded  with  Madame  Reynier's  con 
fidential  chat.  They  had  returned  to  their  New 
York  apartment  in  the  midst  of  the  summer  sea 
son,  she  said,  "for  professional  advice."  She  and 
her  niece  liked  the  city  and  never  minded  the  heat. 
Melanie,  her  aunt  explained,  had  been  enabled  to 
see  several  old  friends,  and,  for  her  own  part,  she 
liked  home  at  any  time  of  the  year  better  than  the 
most  comfortable  of  hotels. 

"This  is  quite  like  home,"  she  added,  "even 
though  we  are  really  exiles."  Aleck  ventured  to 
hope  that  the  "professional  advice"  had  not  meant 
serious  trouble  of  any  sort. 


58  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"A  slight  indisposition  only/* 

"And  are  you  much  better  now  ?"  Aleck  inquired 
solicitously. 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  I;  it  was  Melanie,"  Madame 
smiled.  "I  became  my  own  physician  many  years 
ago,  and  now  I  never  see  a  doctor  except  when  we 
ask  one  to  dine.  But  youth  has  no  such  advantage." 
Madame  fairly  beamed  with  benevolence  while  ex 
plaining  one  of  her  pet  idiosyncrasies.  Before  Aleck 
could  make  any  headway  in  gleaning  information 
concerning  her  own  and  Melanie's  movements,  as 
he  was  shamelessly  trying  to  do,  Lloyd-Jones  had 
persuaded  Miss  Reynier  to  sing. 

"Some  of  those  quaint  old  things,  please,"  he  was 
saying;  and  Aleck  wondered  if  he  never  would 
hang  himself  with  his  own  rope.  But  Lloyd- Jones' 
cheerful  voice  went  on : 

"Some  of  those  Hungarian  things  are  jolly  and 
funny,  even  though  you  can't  understand  the  words. 
Makes  you  want  to  dance  or  sing  yourself."  Aleck 
groaned,  but  Melanie  began  to  sing,  with  Jones 
hovering  around  the  piano.  By  the  time  Melanie 
had  sung  everybody's  favorites,  excluding  Aleck's, 
Mr.  Chamberlain  rose  to  depart.  He  was  an  Eng 
lishman,  a  serious,  heavy  gentleman,  very  loyal  to 


MR.    VAN   CAMP   MAKES    A   CALL    59 

old  friends  and  very  slow  in  making  new  ones.  He 
made  an  engagement  to  dine  with  Aleck  on  the  fol 
lowing  evening,  and,  as  he  went  out,  threw  back  to 
the  remaining  gentlemen  an  offer  of  seats  in  his 
machine. 

"I  ought  to  go,"  said  Jones;  "but  if  Van  Camp 
will  stay,  I  will.  That  is,"  he  added  with  belated 
punctiliousness,  "if  the  ladies  will  permit?" 

"Thank  you,  Chamberlain,  I'm  walking,"  drawled 
Aleck ;  then  turning  to  the  company  with  his  cheer 
ful  grin  he  stated  quite  impersonally :  "I  was  think 
ing  of  staying  long  enough  to  put  one  question — er, 
a  matter  of  some  little  importance — to  Miss  Rey- 
nier.  When  she  gives  me  the  desired  information, 
1  shall  go." 

"Me,  too,"  chirped  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones.  "I  came 
expressly  to  talk  over  that  plan  of  building  up 
friendly  adjoining  estates  out  in  Idaho ;  sort  of  pri 
vate  shooting  and  hunting  park,  you  know.  And 
I  haven't  had  a  minute  to  say  a  word."  Jones  sud 
denly  began  to  feel  himself  aggrieved.  As  the  door 
closed  after  Chamberlain,  Melanie  motioned  them 
back  to  their  seats. 

"It's  not  so  very  late,"  she  said  easily.  "Come 
back  and  make  yourselves  comfortable,  and  I'll 


60  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

listen  to  both  of  you,"  she  said  with  a  demure  little 
devil  in  her  eye.  "I  haven't  seen  you  for  ages,  and 
I  don't  know  when  the  good  moment  will  come 
again."  She  included  the  two  men  in  a  friendly 
smile,  waved  a  hand  toward  the  waiting  chairs,  and 
adjusted  a  light  shawl  over  the  shoulders  of  Ma 
dame  Reynier. 

But  Aleck  by  this  time  had  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and 
would  not  be  coaxed.  His  ordinarily  cool  eye  rested 
wrathfully  on  the  broad  shoulders  of  Mr.  Lloyd- 
Jones,  who  was  lighting  a  cigarette,  and  he  turned 
abruptly  to  Miss  Reynier.  His  voice  was  as  serious 
as  if  Parliament,  at  least,  had  been  hanging  on  his 
words. 

"May  I  call  to-morrow,  Miss  Reynier,  at  about 
twelve  ?" 

"Oh,  I  say,"  put  in  Jones,  "all  of  you  come  to 
luncheon  with  me  at  the  Little  Gray  Fox — will  you  ? 
Capital  place  and  all  sorts  of  nice  people.  Do  come. 
About  one." 

Van  Camp  could  have  slain  him. 

"I  think  my  proposition  a  prior  one,"  he  remarked 
with  dogged  precision;  "but,  of  course,  Miss  Rey 
nier  must  decide."  He  recovered  his  temper  enough 
to  add,  quite  pleasantly,  considering  the  circum- 


MR.    VAN    CAMP    MAKES    A   CALL    61 

stances,   "Unless   Madame   Reynier  will   take  my 
part  ?"  turning  to  the  older  woman. 

"Oh,  no,  not  fair,"  shouted  Jones.  "Madame 
Reynier's  always  on  my  side.  Aren't  you,  Ma 
dame?" 

Madame  Reynier  smiled  inscrutably.  "I'm  al 
ways  on  the  side  of  virtue  in  distress,"  she  said. 

'That's  me,  then,  isn't  it?  The  way  you're  abus 
ing  me,  Mademoiselle,  listening  here  to  Van  Camp 
all  the  evening!" 

But  Melanie,  tired,  perhaps,  of  being  patiently 
tactful,  settled  the  matter.  "I  can't  go  to  luncheon 
with  anybody,  to-morrow,"  she  protested.  "I've 
had  a  touch  of  that  arch-enemy,  indigestion,  you 
see;  and  I  can't  do  anything  but  my  prescribed  ex 
ercises,  nor  drink  anything  but  distilled  water — " 

"Nor  eat  anything  but  food!  We  know,"  cried 
the  irrepressible  Jones.  "But  the  Little  Gray  Fox 
has  a  special  diet  for  just  such  cases  as  yours.  Do 
come!" 

"Heavens!  Then  I  don't  want  to  go  there!" 
groaned  Aleck. 

Melanie  gave  Jones  her  hand,  half  in  thanks  and 
half  in  farewell.  "No,  thank  you,  not  to-morrow, 
but  sometime  soon;  perhaps  Thursday.  Will  that 


62  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

clo?"  she  smiled.  Then,  as  Jones  was  discontent 
edly  lounging  about  the  door,  she  did  a  pretty  thing. 
Turning  from  the  door,  she  stood  with  face  averted 
from  everybody  except  Van  Camp,  and  for  an  in 
stant  her  eyes  met  his  in  a  friendly,  half-humorous 
but  wholly  non-committal  glance.  His  eyes  held 
hers  in  a  look  that  was  like  an  embrace. 

"I  will  see  you  soon,"  she  said  quietly. 

Van  Camp  said  good  night  to  Jones  at  the  corner, 
after  they  had  walked  together  in  silence  for  half 
a  block. 

"Good  night,  Van  Camp,"  said  Jones;  then  he 
added  cordially :  "By  the  way,  I'm  going  back  next 
week  in  my  private  car  to  watch  the  opening  of  the 
Liza  Lu,  and  I'd  be  mighty  glad  if  you'd  go  along. 
Anything  else  to  do  ?" 

"Thanks — extremely;  but  I'm  going  on  a  cruise." 

As  Aleck  entered  the  piously  exclusive  hall  of  the 
club  his  good  nature  came  to  his  aid.  He  wondered 
whether  he  hadn't  scored  something,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  V 
MELANIE'S  DREAMS 

A  TIDNIGHT  and  the  relaxation  of  slumber 
•*•*•*»  could  subtract  nothing  from  the  high-browed 
dignity  of  the  club  officials,  and  the  message  that 
was  waiting  for  Mr.  Van  Camp  was  delivered  in 
the  most  correct  manner.  "Mr.  Hambleton  sends 
word  to  Mr.  Van  Camp  that  he  has  gone  away  on 
the  Jeanne  D'Arc.  Mr.  Hambleton  may  not  be  back 
for  some  time,  and  requests  Mr.  Van  Camp  to  look 
after  the  Sea  Gull!' 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  replied  Aleck,  rather 
absent-mindedly.  He  was  unable  to  see,  immedi 
ately,  just  what  change  in  his  own  plans  this  sudden 
turn  of  Jim's  would  cause ;  and  he  was  for  the  mo 
ment  too  deeply  preoccupied  with  his  own  personal 
affairs  to  speculate  much  about  it.  His  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  events  of  the  evening,  recalled  the 
picture  of  his  Diana  and  her  teasing  ways,  and  dwelt 
especially  upon  the  honest,  friendly,  wholly  bewitch- 

63 


64  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

ing  look  that  had  flown  to  him  at  the  end  of  the 
evening.  Absurd  as  his  own  attempt  at  a  declara 
tion  had  been,  he  somehow  felt  that  he  himself  was 
not  absurd  in  Melanie's  eyes,  though  he  was  far 
from  certain  whether  she  was  inclined  to  marry 
him. 

Aleck,  on  his  part,  had  not  come  to  his  decision 
suddenly  or  impulsively;  nor,  having  arrived  there, 
was  he  to  be  turned  from  it  easily.  True  as  it  was 
that  he  sincerely  and  affectionately  desired  Melanie 
Reynier  for  a  wife,  yet  on  the  whole  he  was  a  very 
cool  Romeo.  He  was  manly,  but  he  was  calculating ; 
he  was  honorably  disposed  toward  matrimony,  but 
he  was  not  reborn  with  love.  And  so,  in  the  sober 
bedroom  of  the  club,  he  quickly  fell  into  the  good 
sleep  induced  by  fatigue  and  healthy  nerves. 

Morning  brought  counsel  and  a  disposition  to  re 
new  operations.  A  note  was  despatched  to  his  Diana 
by  a  private  messenger,  and  the  boy  was  bidden  to 
wait  for  an  answer.  It  came  presently : 

"Come  at  twelve,  if  you  wish. 

"MELANIE  REYNIER.'* 

Aleck  smiled  with  satisfaction.  Here  was  a  wise 
venture  going  through  happily,  he  hoped.  He  was 


MELANIE'S   DREAMS  65 

pleased  that  she  had  named  the  very  hour  he  had 
asked  for  the  night  before.  That  was  like  her  good, 
frank  way  of  meeting  a  situation,  and  it  augured 
well  for  the  unknown  emergencies  of  their  future 
life.  He  had  little  patience  with  timidity  and  tradi 
tional  coyness  in  women,  and  great  admiration  for 
an  open  and  fearless  spirit.  Melanie's  note  almost 
set  his  heart  thumping. 

But  not  quite;  and  no  one  understood  the  cool 
nature  of  that  organ  better  than  Melanie  herself. 
The  ladies  in  the  apartment  at  the  Archangel  had 
lingered  at  their  breakfast,  the  austerity  of  which 
had  been  mitigated  by  a  center  decoration  of  orchids 
and  fern,  fresh-touched  with  dew;  or  so  Madame 
Reynier  had  described  them  to  Melanie,  as  she 
brought  them  to  her  with  the  card  of  Mr.  Lloyd- 
Jones.  Miss  Reynier  smiled  faintly,  admired  the 
blossoms  and  turned  away. 

The  ladies  usually  spoke  French  with  each  other, 
though  occasionally  Madame  Reynier  dropped  into 
the  harsher  speech  of  her  native  country.  On  this 
morning  she  did  this,  telling  Melanie,  for  the  tenth 
time  in  as  many  days,  that  in  her  opinion  they  ought 
to  be  going  home.  Madame  considered  this  her 
duty,  and  felt  no  real  responsibility  after  the  state- 


66  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

ment  was  made.  Nevertheless,  she  was  glad  to  find 
Melanie  disposed  to  discuss  the  matter  a  little  fur 
ther. 

"Do  you  wish  to  go  home,  Auntie,  or  is  it  that  you 
think  I  ought  to  go  ?" 

"I  don't  wish  to  go  without  you,  child,  you  know 
that;  and  I  am  very  comfortable  here.  But  his 
Highness,  your  cousin,  is  very  impatient ;  I  see  that 
in  every  letter  from  Krolvetz.  You  offended  him 
deeply  by  putting  off  your  marriage  to  Count  Lor 
enzo,  and  every  day  now  deepens  his  indignation 
against  you.  I  don't  like  to  discuss  these  things, 
Melanie,  but  I  suspect  that  your  action  deprives  him 
of  a  very  necessary  revenue ;  and  I  understand,  bet 
ter  than  you  do,  to  what  lengths  your  cousin  is 
capable  of  going  when  he  is  displeased.  You  are, 
by  the  law  of  your  country,  his  ward  until  you 
marry.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  submit  to  him  in 
friendship,  rather  than  to  incur  his  enmity?  After 
all,  he  is  your  next  of  kin,  the  head  of  your  family, 
and  a  very  powerful  man.  If  we  are  going  home  at 
all,  we  ought  to  go  now." 

"But  suppose  we  should  decide  not  to  go  home  at 
all?" 

"You  will  have  to  go  some  time,  dear  child.   You 


MELANIE'S    DREAMS  67 

are  all  alone,  except  for  me,  and  in  the  nature  of 
things  you  can't  have  me  always.  Now  that  you 
are  young,  you  think  it  an  easy  thing  to  break  away 
from  the  ties  of  blood  and  birth ;  but  believe  me,  it 
isn't  easy.  You,  with  your  nature,  could  never  do  it. 
The  call  of  the  land  is  strong,  and  the  time  will  come 
when  you  will  long  to  go  home,  long  to  go  back  to 
the  land  where  your  father  led  his  soldiers,  and 
where  your  mother  was  admired  and  loved." 

Madame  Reynier  paused  and  watched  her  niece, 
who,  with  eyes  cast  down,  was  toying  with  her 
spoon.  Suddenly  a  crimson  flush  rose  and  spread 
over  Melanie's  cheeks  and  forehead  and  neck,  and 
when  she  looked  up  into  Madame  Reynier's  face,  she 
was  gazing  through  unshed  tears.  She  rose  quickly, 
came  round  to  the  older  woman's  chair  and  kissed 
her  cheek  affectionately. 

"Dear  Auntie,  you  are  very  good  to  me,  and  pa 
tient,  too.  It's  all  true,  I  suppose;  but  the  prospect 
of  home  and  Count  Lorenzo  together — ah,  well!" 
she  smiled  reassuringly  and  again  caressed  Madame 
Reynier's  gaunt  old  face.  "I'll  think  it  all  over, 
Auntie  dear." 

Madame  Reynier  followed  Melanie  into  her  sit 
ting-room,  bringing  the  precious  orchids  in  her  two 


68  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

hands,  fearful  lest  the  fragile  vase  should  fall. 
Melanie  regarded  them  a  moment,  and  then  said  she 
thought  they  would  do  better  in  the  drawing-room. 

"I  sometimes  think  the  little  garden  pink  quite  as 
pretty  as  an  orchid." 

"They  aren't  so  much  in  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones'  style  as 
these,"  replied  Madame  Reynier.  She  had  a  faculty 
of  commenting  pleasantly  without  the  least  hint  of 
criticism.  This  remark  delighted  Melanie. 

"No ;  I  should  never  picture  Mr.  Lloyd-Jones  as  a 
garden  pink.  But  then,  Auntie,  you  remember  how 
eloquent  he  was  about  the  hills  and  the  stars.  That 
speech  did  not  at  all  indicate  a  hothouse  nature." 

"Nevertheless,  I  think  his  sentiments  have  been 
cultivated,  like  his  orchids." 

"Not  a  bad  achievement,"  said  Melanie. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  while  the 
younger  woman  stood  looking  out  of  the  window 
and  Madame  Reynier  cut  the  leaves  of  a  French 
journal.  She  did  not  read,  however,  and  presently 
she  broke  the  silence.  "I  don't  remember  that  Mr. 
Van  Camp  ever  sent  orchids  to  you." 

"Mr.  Van  Camp  never  gave  me  any  kind  of 
flower.  He  thinks  flowers  are  the  most  intimate  of 
all  gifts,  and  should  only  be  exchanged  between 


MELANIE'S    DREAMS  69 

sweethearts.  At  least,  I  heard  him  expound  some 
such  theory  years  ago,  when  we  first  knew  him." 

Madame  smiled — a  significant  smile,  if  any  one 
had  been  looking.  Nothing  further  was  said  until 
Melanie  unexpectedly  shot  straight  to  the  mark  with : 

"How  do  you  think  he  would  do,  Auntie,  in  place 
of  Count  Lorenzo?" 

Madame  Reynier  showed  no  surprise.  "He  is  a 
sterling  man;  but  your  cousin  would  never  consent 
to  it." 

"And  if  I  should  not  consult  my  cousin?" 

"My  dear  Melanie,  that  would  entail  many  em 
barrassing  consequences;  and  embarrassments  are 
worse  than  crimes." 

Melanie  could  laugh  at  that,  and  did.  "I've  al 
ready  answered  a  note  from  Mr.  Van  Camp  this 
morning,  Auntie.  No,  don't  worry,"  she  playfully 
answered  a  sudden  anxious  look  that  came  upon  her 
aunt's  countenance,  "I've  not  said  'yes'  to  him.  But 
he's  coming  to  see  me  at  twelve.  If  I  don't  give  him 
a  chance  to  say  what  he  has  to  say,  he'll  take  one  any 
where.  He's  capable  of  proposing  on  the  street-cars. 
Besides,  I  have  something  also  to  say  to  him." 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  know  best ;  certainly  I  think 
you  know  best,"  was  Madame  Reynier's  last  word. 


70  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Mr.  Van  Camp  arrived  on  the  stroke  of  twelve, 
an  expression  of  happiness  on  his  lean,  quizzical 
face. 

"I'm  supposed  to  be  starting  on  a  cruise,"  he  told 
Melanie,  "but  luck  is  with  me.  My  cousin  hasn't 
turned  up — or  rather  he  turned  up  only  to  disap 
pear  instantly.  Otherwise  he  would  have  dragged 
me  off  to  catch  the  first  ebb-tide,  with  me  hanging 
back  like  an  anchor-chain." 

"Is  your  cousin,  then,  such  a  tyrant  ?" 

"Oh,  yes;  he's  a  masterful  man,  is  Jimmy." 

"And  how  did  he  'disappear  instantly  ?'  It  sounds 
mysterious." 

"It  is  mysterious,  but  Jim  can  take  care  of  him 
self;  at  least,  I  hope  he  can.  The  message  said 
he  had  sailed  on  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  whatever  that  is, 
and  that  I  was  to  look  after  our  hired  yacht,  the  Sea 
Gull." 

Melanie  looked  up,  startled.  "The  Jeanne  D'Arc, 
was  it  ?"  she  cried.  "Are  you  sure  ?  But,  of  course 
— there  must  be  many  boats  by  that  name,  are  there 
not?  But  did  he  say  nothing  more — where  he  was 
going,  and  why  he  changed  his  plans?" 

"No,  not  a  word  more  than  that.  Why?  Do  you 
know  of  a  boat  named  the  Jeanne  D'Arc?" 


MELANIE'S   DREAMS  71 

"Yes,  very  well ;  but  it  can  not  matter.  It  must  be 
another  vessel,  surely.  Meanwhile,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  without  your  companion  ?" 

Aleck  rose  from  the  slender  gilt  chair  where,  as 
usual,  he  had  perched  himself,  walked  to  the  window 
and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  for  a  contem 
plative  moment,  then  he  turned  and  came  to  a  stand 
squarely  before  Melanie,  looking  down  on  her  with 
his  quizzical,  honest  eyes. 

"That  depends,  Melanie,"  he  said  slowly,  "upon 
whether  you  are  going  to  marry  me  or  not." 

For  a  second  or  two  Melanie's  eyes  refused  to 
lift;  but  Aleck's  firm-planted  figure,  his  steady  gaze, 
above  all,  his  dominating  will,  forced  her  to  look  up. 
There  he  was,  smiling,  strong,  big,  kindly.  Melanie 
started  to  smile,  but  for  the  second  time  that  morn 
ing  her  eyes  unexpectedly  filled  with  tears. 

"I  can't  talk  to  you  towering  over  me  like  that," 
she  said  at  last  softly,  her  smile  winning  against  the 
tears. 

Aleck  did  not  move.  "I  don't  want  you  to  'talk 
to'  me  about  it ;  all  I  want  is  for  you  to  say  'yes/ ' 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  say  'yes ;'  at  least,  I  don't 
think  I  am.  Do  sit  down." 

Aleck  started  straight  for  the  gilt  chair. 


72  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Oh,  no;  not  that!  You  are  four  times  too  big 
for  that  chair.  Besides,  it's  quite  valuable;  it's  a 
Louis  Quinze." 

Aleck  indulged  in  a  vicious  kick  at  the  ridiculous 
thing,  picked  up  an  enormous  leather-bottomed  chair 
made  apparently  of  lead,  and  placed  it  jauntily  al 
most  beside  Miss  Reynier's  chair,  but  facing  the 
other  way. 

"This  is  much  better,  thank  you,"  he  said.  "Now 
tell  me  why  you  think  you  are  not  going  to  say  'yes' 
to  me." 

Melanie's  mood  of  softness  had  not  left  her;  but 
sitting  there,  face  to  face  with  this  man,  face  to  face 
with  his  seriousness,  his  masculine  will  and  strength, 
she  felt  that  she  had  something  yet  to  struggle  for, 
some  deep  personal  right  to  be  acknowledged.  It 
was  with  a  dignity,  an  aloofness,  that  was  quite  real, 
yet  very  sweet,  that  she  met  this  American  lover. 
He  had  her  hand  in  his  firm  grasp,  but  he  was  wait 
ing  for  her  to  speak.  He  was  giving  her  the  hearing 
that  was,  in  his  opinion,  her  right. 

"In  the  first  place,"  Melanie  began,  "you  ought  to 
know  more  about  me — who  I  am,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  am,  in  one  sense,  not  at  all  what  I  seem 


"That  depends  upon  whether  you  are  going  to  marry  me." 


MELANIE'S    DREAMS  73 

to  be;  and  that,  in  the  case  of  marriage,  is  a  danger 
ous  thing." 

"It  is  an  important  thing,  at  least.  But  I  do  know 
who  you  are;  I  knew  long  ago.  Since  you  never 
referred  to  the  matter,  of  course  I  never  did.  You 
are  the  Princess  Auguste  Stephanie  of  Krolvetz, 
cousin  of  the  present  Duke  Stephen,  called  King  of 
Krolvetz.  You  are  even  in  line  for  the  throne, 
though  there  are  two  or  three  lives  between.  You 
have  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Duke  Stephen  and 
are  practically  an  exile  from  your  country." 

"A  voluntary  exile,"  Melanie  corrected. 

"Voluntary  only  in  the  sense  that  you  prefer  exile 
to  absolute  submission  to  the  duke.  There  is  no 
alternative,  if  you  return." 

Melanie  was  silent.  Aleck  lifted  the  hand  which 
he  held,  touched  it  gently  with  his  lips  and  laid  it 
back  beside  its  fellow  on  Melanie's  lap.  Then  he 
rose  and  lifted  both  hands  before  her,  half  in  fun 
and  half  in  earnestness,  as  if  he  were  a  courtier 
doing  reverence  to  his  queen. 

"See,  your  Highness,  how  ready  I  am  to  do  you 
homage!  Only  smile  on  the  most  devoted  of  your 
servants." 


74  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

Melanie  could  not  resist  his  gentle  gaiety.  It  was 
as  if  they  were  two  children  playing  at  a  story. 
Aleck,  in  such  a  mood  as  this,  was  as  much  fun  as 
a  dancing  bear,  and  in  five  minutes  more  he  had 
won  peals  of  laughter  from  Melanie.  It  was  what 
he  wanted — to  brighten  her  spirits.  So  presently  he 
came  back  to  the  big  chair,  though  he  did  not  again 
take  her  hand. 

"I  knew  you  were  titled  and  important,  Melanie, 
and  at  first  I  thought  that  sealed  my  case  entirely. 
But  you  seemed  to  forget  your  state,  seemed  not  to 
care  so  very  much  about  it ;  and  perhaps  that  made 
me  think  it  was  possible  for  us  both  to  forget  it,  or 
at  least  to  ignore  it.  I  haven't  a  gold  throne  to  give 
you;  but  you're  the  only  woman  I've  ever  wanted 
to  marry,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  give  up  the  chance 
until  you  said  so." 

"Do  you  know  also  that  if  I  marry  out  of  my 
rank  and  without  the  consent  of  Duke  Stephen,  I 
shall  forfeit  all  my  fortune?" 

"  'Cut  off  without  a  cent!'  "  Aleck  laughed,  but 
presently  paused,  embarrassed  for  the  first  time 
since  he  had  begun  his  plea.  "I,  you  know,  haven't 
millions,  but  there's  a  decent  income,  even  for  two. 
And  then  I  can  always  go  to  work  and  earn  some- 


MELANIE'S   DREAMS  75 

thing,"  He  smiled  at  her,  "giving  information  to  a 
thirsty  world  about  the  gill-slit,  as  you  call  it.  It 
would  be  fun,  earning  money  for  you;  I'd  like  to 
do  it." 

Melanie  smiled  back  at  him,  but  left  her  chair  and 
wandered  uneasily  about  the  room,  as  if  turning  a 
difficult  matter  over  in  her  mind.  Aleck  stood  by, 
watching.  Presently  she  returned  to  her  chair, 
pushed  him  gently  back  into  his  seat  and  dropped 
down  beside  him.  Before  she  spoke,  she  touched 
her  fingers  lightly,  almost  lovingly,  along  the  blue 
veins  of  his  big  hand  lying  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 
The  hand  turned,  like  a  magnet  spring,  and  impris 
oned  hers. 

"No,  dear  friend,  not  yet,"  said  Melanie,  drawing 
away  her  hand,  yet  not  very  quickly  after  all.  "There 
is  much  yet  to  say  to  you,  and  I  have  been  wonder 
ing  how  to  say  it,  but  I  shall  do  it  now.  Like  the 
.heroes  in  the  novels,"  she  smiled  again,  "I  am  going 
to  tell  you  the  story  of  my  life." 

"Good !"  said  Aleck.  "All  ready  for  chapter  one. 
But  your  maid  wants  you  at  the  door." 

"Go  away,  Sophie,"  said  Melanie.  "Serve  lunch 
eon  to  Madame  Reynier  alone.  I  shall  wait;  and 
you'll  have  to  wait,  too,  poor  man!"  She  looked 


76  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

scrutinizingly  at  Aleck.  "Or  are  you,  perhaps, 
hungry?  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  a  hungry  man," 
she  announced. 

"Not  a  bite  till  I've  heard  chapter  thirty-nine!" 
said  Aleck. 

In  a  moment  she  became  serious  again. 

"I  have  lived  in  England  and  here  in  America," 
she  began,  "long  enough  to  understand  that  the  dif 
ferences  between  your  people  and  mine  are  more 
than  the  differences  of  language  and  climate;  they 
are  ingrained  in  our  habits  of  thought,  our  educa 
tion,  our  judgments  of  life  and  of  people.  My 
childhood  and  youth  were  wholly  different  from 
yours,  or  from  what  an  American  girl's  could  be; 
and  yet  I  think  I  understand  your  American  women, 
though  I  suppose  I  am  not  in  the  least  like  them. 

"But  I,  on  the  other  hand,  have  seen  the  dark  side 
of  life,  and  particularly  of  marriage.  When  I  was 
a  child  I  was  more  important  in  my  own  country 
than  I  am  now,  since  it  seemed  then  that  my  father 
would  succeed  to  the  throne.  I  was  brought  up  to 
feel  that  I  was  not  a  woman,  but  a  pawn  in  the  game 
of  politics.  When  I  had  been  out  of  the  convent  for 
a  year  or  more,  I  loved  a  youth,  and  was  loved  in 
return,  but  our  marriage  was  laughed  at,  put  aside, 


MELANIE'S    DREAMS  77 

declared  impossible,  because  he  was  of  a  rank  in 
ferior  to  my  own.  My  lover  disappeared,  I  know 
not  where  or  how.  Then  affairs  changed.  My 
father  died,  and  it  transpired  that  I  had  been  offi 
cially  betrothed  since  childhood  to  Duke  Stephen's 
brother,  the  Count  Lorenzo.  The  duke  was  my 
guardian,  and  there  was  no  one  else  to  whom  I  could 
appeal;  but  the  very  week  set  for  the  wedding  I 
faced  the  duke  and  declared  I  would  never  marry 
the  count.  His  Highness  raged  and  stormed,  but  I 
told  him  a  few  things  I  knew  about  his  brother,  and 
I  made  him  see  that  I  was  in  earnest.  The  next 
day  I  left  Krolvetz,  and  the  duke  gave  out  that  I 
was  ill  and  had  gone  to  a  health  resort;  that  the 
wedding  was  postponed.  I  went  to  France  and  hid 
myself  with  my  aunt,  took  one  of  my  own  middle 
names  and  her  surname,  and  have  been  known  for 
some  time,  as  you  know,  as  Melanie  Reynier." 

"I  know  you  wish  to  tell  me  all  these  things, 
Melanie,  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  recall  painful 
matters  of  the  past  now,"  said  Aleck  gently.  "You 
shall  tell  me  of  them  at  another  time." 

The  color  brightened  in  Melanie's  face,  her  eyes 
glowed. 

"No,  not  another  time ;  you  must  understand  now, 


78  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

especially  because  all  this  preface  leads  me  to  what 
I  really  want  to  say  to  you.  It  is  this :  I  do  not  now 
care  for  the  man  I  loved  at  nineteen,  nor  for  any 
of  the  other  men  of  my  country  who  have  been 
pleased  to  honor  me  with  their  regard.  But  ever 
since  those  early  days  I  have  had  a  dream  of  a  home 
— a  place  different  from  Duke  Stephen's  home,  dif 
ferent  from  the  homes  of  many  people  of  my  rank. 
My  dream  has  a  husband  in  it  who  is  a  companion, 
a  friend,  my  equal  in  love,  my  superior  in  strength." 
Melanie's  eyes  lifted  to  meet  Aleck's,  and  they  were 
full  of  an  almost  tragic  passion ;  but  it  was  a  passion 
for  comprehension  and  love,  not  primarily  for  the 
man  sitting  before  her.  She  added  simply:  "And 
for  my  dream  I'd  give  all  the  wealth,  all  the  love,  I 
have." 

The  room  was  very  still.  Aleck  Van  Camp  sat 
quiet  and  grave,  his  forehead  resting  on  his  hand. 
He  looked  up,  finally,  at  Melanie,  who  was  beside 
him,  pale  and  quite  worn. 

"Poor  child!  You  needed  me  more  than  I 
thought !"  was  what  he  said. 

But  Melanie  had  not  quite  finished.  "No,  that  is 
not  enough,  that  I  should  need  you.  You  must  also 
need  me,  want  what  I  alone  can  give  you,  match  my 


MELANIE'S   DREAMS  79 

love  with  yours.  And  this,  I  thinlc,  you  do  not  do. 
You  calculate,  you  remain  cool,  you  plan  your  life 
like  a  campaign,  and  I  am  part  of  your  equipment. 
You  are  a  thousand  times  better  than  Count  Lorenzo, 
but  I  think  your  principles  of  reasoning  are  the 
same.  You  do  not  love  me  enough,  and  that  is  why 
I  can  not  say  yes." 

Aleck  had  taken  this  last  blow  standing.  He 
walked  slowly  around  and  stood  before  Melanie, 
much  as  he  had  stood  before  her  when  he  first  asked 
her  to  marry  him ;  and  this  time,  as  he  looked  down 
on  her  fairness,  there  was  infinite  gentleness  and 
patience  and  love  in  his  eyes.  He  bent  over,  lifted 
Melanie's  two  hands,  and  drew  her  bodily  out  of 
her  seat.  She  was  impassive.  Her  quick  alertness, 
her  vitality,  her  passionate  seriousness,  had  slipped 
away.  Aleck  put  his  arms  around  her  very  tenderly 
and  kissed  her  lips ;  not  a  lover's  kiss  exactly,  and  yet 
nothing  else.  Then  he  looked  into  her  face. 

"I  shall  not  do  this  again,  Melanie  dear,  till  you 
give  me  leave.  But  I  have  no  mind  to  let  you  go, 
either.  You  and  Madame  Reynier  are  going  on  a 
cruise  with  me;  will  you?  Get  your  maid  to  pack 
your  grip.  It  will  be  better  for  you  than  the  'profes 
sional  advice'  which  you  came  to  New  York  for." 


8o  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Aleck  stopped  suddenly,  his  practical  sense  coming 
to  the  surface.  "Heavens!  You  haven't  had  any 
lunch,  and  it's  all  times  of  the  day!"  He  rang  the 
bell,  begged  the  maid  to  fetch  bread  and  butter  and 
tea  and  to  ask  Madame  Reynier  to  come  to  the  draw 
ing-room.  When  she  appeared,  he  met  her  with  a 
grave,  but  in  no  wise  a  cowed,  spirit. 

"Madame  Reynier,  your  niece  refuses,  for  the 
present,  to  consider  herself  engaged  to  me ;  I,  how 
ever,  am  unequivocally  betrothed  to  her.  And  I 
shall  be  endlessly  grateful  if  you  and  Miss  Reynier 
will  be  my  guests  on  the  Sea  Gull  for  as  long  a  time 
as  you  find  it  diverting.  We  shall  cruise  along  the 
coast  and  put  into  harbor  at  night,  if  it  seems  best ; 
and  I'll  try  to  make  you  comfortable.  Will  you 
come?" 

Madame  Reynier  was  willing  if  Melanie  was ;  and 
Melanie  had  no  strength,  if  she  had  the  will,  to  com 
bat  Aleck's  masterful  ways.  It  was  soon  settled. 
Aleck  swung  off  down  the  street,  re-reading  Jim's 
letter,  intent  only  on  the  Sea  Gull  and  the  prepara 
tions  for  his  guests.  But  at  the  back  of  his  mind  he 
was  thinking,  "Poor  girl !  She  needs  me  more  than 
I  thought!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

ON  BOARD  THE  JEANNE  D*ARC 

TF  hard  usage  and  obstacles  could  cure  a  knight- 
errant  of  his  sentiment,  then  Jimmy  Hambleton 
had  been  free  of  his  passion  for  the  Face.  His 
plunge  overboard  had  been  followed  by  a  joyous 
swim,  a  lusty  call  to  the  yacht  for  "Help,"  and  a 
growing  amazement  when  he  realized  that  it  was  the 
yacht's  intention  to  pass  him  by.  He  had  swum 
valiantly,  determined  to  get  picked  up  by  that  par 
ticular  craft,  when  suddenly  his  strength  failed.  He 
remembered  thinking  that  it  was  all  up  with  him, 
and  then  he  lost  consciousness. 

When  he  awoke  he  was  on  a  hard  bunk  in  a  dim 
place,  and  a  sailor  was  jerking  him  about.  His 
throat  burned  with  a  fiery  liquid.  Then  he  felt  the 
plunging  and  rising  of  the  boat,  and  came  to  life 
sufficiently  to  utter  the  stereotyped  words,  "Where 
ami?" 

In  Jim's  case  the  question  did  not  imply  the  con- 
Si 


82  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

fused  groping  back"  to  sense  that  it  usually  indicates, 
but  rather  an  actual  desire  to  know  whether  or  not 
he  was  on  board  the  Jeanne  D'Arc.  Plainly  his 
wits  had  not  been  badly  shattered  by  his  experience 
overboard.  But  the  sailor  who  was  attending  him 
with  such  ministrations  as  he  understood,  answered 
him  with  a  sample  of  French  which  Jim  had  never 
met  with  in  his  school-books,  and  he  was  not  en 
lightened  for  some  hours. 

It  turned  out,  indeed,  to  be  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  as 
Jim  proved  for  himself  the  next  day,  and  he  was 
lying  in  the  seamen's  quarters  in  the  fo'cas'le.  By 
morning  he  felt  much  better,  hungry,  and  prepared 
in  his  mind  for  striking  a  bargain  with  one  of  the 
sailors  for  clothes.  He  could  make  out  their  lingo 
soon,  he  guessed,  and  then  he  would  get  a  suit  of 
clothes  and  fare  on  deck.  Suddenly  he  grasped  his 
waist,  struck  with  an  unpleasant  thought ;  his  money- 
belt  was  gone !  He  was  wearing  a  sailor's  blue  flan 
nel  shirt  and  nothing  else.  He  turned  over  on  his 
hard  bunk,  thinking  that  he  would  have  to  wait  a 
while  before  making  his  entrance  on  the  public  stage 
of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc. 

And  wait  he  did.  Not  a  rag  of  clothing  was  in 
sight,  and  no  cajolery  or  promise  of  reward  could 


ON   BOARD   THE   JEANNE   D'ARC     83 

persuade  the  ship's  men  into  supplying  his  need.  He 
received  consignments  of  food;  short  rations  they 
would  be,  he  judged,  for  an  able-bodied  seaman. 
But  inactivity  and  confinement  to  the  fo'cas'le  soon 
worked  havoc  with  his  physique,  so  that  appetite, 
and  even  desire  of  life  itself,  temporarily  disap 
peared  in  the  gloom  of  seasickness. 

In  spite  of  difficulties,  Jim  tried  to  find  out  some 
thing  about  the  boat.  The  seamen  were  none  too 
friendly;  but  by  patching  up  his  almost  forgotten 
French  and  by  signs,  he  learned  something.  His 
sudden  failure  of  strength  in  the  water  had  been  due 
to  a  blow  from  a  floating  spar,  as  a  bruise  on  his 
forehead  testified;  "the  old  man,"  whom  Jim  sup 
posed  to  be  the  captain,  was  a  hard  master;  Mon 
sieur  Chatelard  was  owner,  or  at  least  temporary 
proprietor,  of  the  yacht;  and  the  present  voyage  was 
an  unlucky  one  by  all  the  signs  and  omens  known  to 
the  seamen's  horoscope. 

The  sullenness  of  the  men  was  apparent,  and  was 
not  caused  by  the  enforced  presence  of  a  stranger 
among  them.  In  fact,  their  bad  temper  became  so 
conspicuous  that  Jim  began  to  believe  that  it  might 
have  something  to  do  with  the  mysterious  actions  of 
the  man  on  shore.  He  pondered  the  situation  deeply ; 


84  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

he  evolved  many  foolish  schemes  to  compass  his 
own  enlightenment,  and  dismissed  them  one  by  one. 
He  grimly  reflected  that  a  man  without  clothes  can 
scarcely  be  a  hero,  whatever  his  spirit.  Not  since 
the  days  of  Olympus  was  there  any  record  of  man 
or  god  being  received  into  any  society  whatever 
without  his  sartorial  shell,  thought  Jimmy.  But  in 
spite  of  his  discomfort,  he  was  glad  he  was  there. 
The  intuition  that  had  led  him  since  that  memorable 
Sunday  afternoon  was  strong  within  him  still,  and 
he  never  questioned  its  authority.  He  believed  his 
turn  would  come,  even  though  he  were  a  prisoner  in 
the  fo'cas'le  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc. 

As  the  violence  of  his  sickness  passed,  Jim  began 
to  cast  about  for  some  means  of  helping  himself. 
Gradually  he  was  able  to  dive  into  the  forgotten 
shallows  of  his  French  learning.  By  much  wrin 
kling  of  brows  he  evolved  a  sentence,  though  he  had 
to  wait  some!  hours  before  there  was  a  favorable 
chance  to  put  it  to  use.  At  last  his  time  came,  with 
the  arrival  of  his  former  friend,  the  sailor. 

"Oo  avay-voo  cashay  mon  money -belt?"  he  in 
quired  with  much  confidence,  and  with  pure  Yankee 
accent. 


ON   BOARD   THE   JEANNE    D'ARC     85 

The  sailor  answered  with  a  shrug  and  a  spreading 
of  empty  hands. 

"Pas  de  money-belt,  pas  de  pantalon,  pas  de  tous ! 
Dam  queer  Amayricain!" 

Jim  was  not  convinced  of  the  sailor's  innocence, 
but  perceived  that  he  must  give  him  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt.  As  the  sailor  intimated,  Jim,  himself, 
was  open  to  suspicion,  and  couldn't  afford  to  be  too 
zealous  in  calumniating  others.  He  fell  to  thinking 
again,  and  attacked  the  next  Frenchman  that  came 
into  the  f  o'cas'le  with  the  following : 

"Kond  j'aytay  malade  don  ma  tate,  kee  a  pree 
mon  money -belt  ?" 

It  was  the  ship's  cook  this  time,  and  he  turned  and 
stared  at  Jimmy  as  though  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 
When  he  found  tongue  he  uttered  a  volume  of  opin 
ion  and  abuse  which  Jimmy  knew  by  instinct  was  not 
fit  to  be  translated,  and  then  he  fled  up  the  ladder. 

On  the  fourth  day,  toward  evening,  James  had 
a  visitor.  All  day  the  yacht  had  been  pitching  and 
rolling,  and  by  afternoon  she  was  laboring  in  the 
violence  of  a  storm  and  was  listing  badly. 

James  was  a  fearless  seaman,  but  it  crossed  his 
mind  more  than  once  that  if  he  were  captain,  and 


86  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

if  there  were  a  port  within  reach,  he  would  put  into 
it  before  midnight.  But  he  could  tell  nothing  of  the 
ship's  course.  He  turned  the  subject  over  in  his 
mind  as  he  lay  on  his  bunk  in  that  peculiar  state 
half-way  between  sickness  and  health,  when  the 
body  is  relaxed  by  a  purely  accidental  illness  and  the 
mind  is  abnormally  alert.  He  wished  intensely  for 
a  bath,  a  shave,  and  a  fair  complement  of  clothes. 
He  longed  also  to  go  up  the  hatchway  for  a 
breath  of  air,  and  was  considering  the  possibility  of 
doing  this  later,  with  a  blanket  and  darkness  for  a 
shield,  when  he  became  conscious  of  a  pair  of  neatly 
trousered  legs  descending  the  ladder.  It  was  quite 
a  different  performance  from  the  catlike  climbing  up 
and  down  of  the  sailors. 

Jimmy  watched  in  the  dim  light  until  the  whole 
figure  was  complete,  fantastically  supplying,  in  his 
imagination,  the  coat,  the  shirt,  the  collar  and  the  tie 
to  go  with  the  trousers — all  the  things  which  he  him 
self  lacked.  Was  there  also  a  hat?  Jimmy  couldn't 
make  out,  and  so  he  asked. 

"Have  you  got  on  a  hat?" 

A  frigid  voice  answered,  "I  beg  your  pardon !" 

"I  said,  are  you  wearing  a  hat  ?  I  couldn't  see, 
you  know." 


ON   BOARD   THE   JEANNE   D'ARC     87 

"Monsieur  takes  the  liberty  of  being  imperti 
nent." 

"Oh,  excuse  me — I  beg  your  pardon.  But  it's  so 
beastly  hot  and  dark  in  here,  you  know,  and  I've 
never  been  seasick  before." 

"No?  Monsieur  is  fortunate."  The  visitor  ad 
vanced  a  little,  drew  from  a  recess  a  shoe-blacking 
outfit,  pulled  over  it  one  of  the  stiff  blankets  from  a 
neighboring  bunk,  and  sat  down  rather  cautiously. 
Little  by  little  James  made  out  more  of  the  look  of 
the  man.  He  was  large  and  rather  blond,  well- 
dressed,  clean-shaven.  He  spoke  English  easily,  but 
with  a  foreign  accent. 

"I  wish  to  inquire  to  what  unfortunate  circum 
stances  we  are  indebted  for  your  company  on  board 
the  Jeanne  D'Arc"  The  voice  was  cool,  and  sharp 
as  a  meat-ax. 

"Why,  to  your  own  kind-heartedness.  I  was  a 
derelict  and  you  took  me  in — saved  my  life,  in  fact ; 
for  which  I  am  profoundly  grateful.  And  I  hope 
my  presence  here  is  not  too  great  a  burden  ?" 

"I  am  obliged  to  say  that  your  presence  here  is 
most  unwelcome.  Moreover,  I  am  aware  that  your 
previous  actions  are  open  to  suspicion,  to  express  it 
mildly.  You  threw  yourself  off  the  tug;  and  as  this 


88  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

is  not  a  pleasure  yacht,  but  the  vessel  of  a  high  offi 
cial  speeding  on  a  most  important  business  matter,  I 
said  to  the  captain,  'Let  him  swim !  Or,  if  he  wishes 
to  die,  why  should  we  thwart  him  ?'  But  the  captain 
referred  to  the  'etiquette  of  the  line/  as  he  calls  it, 
and  picked  you  up.  So  you  have  not  me  to  thank  for 
not  being  among  the  fishes  this  minute." 

Jimmy  pulled  his  blanket  about  and  sat  up  on  his 
bunk.  The  sarcastic  voice  stirred  his  bile,  and  sud 
denly  there  boomed  in  his  memory  a  woman's  call 
for  help.  The  hooded  motor-car,  the  muffled  cry  of 
terror,  the  inert  figure  being  lifted  over  the  side  of 
the  yacht — these  things  crowded  on  his  brain  and 
fired  him  to  a  sudden,  unreasoning  fury.  He  leaned 
over,  looking  sharply  into  the  other's  face. 

"You  damned  scoundrel!"  he  said,  choking  with 
his  anger.  The  blood  surged  into  his  face  and  eyes ; 
he  was,  for  an  instant,  a  primitive  savage.  He  could 
have  laid  violent  hands  on  the  other  man  and  done 
him  to  death,  in  the  fashion  of  the  half -gods  who 
lived  in  the  twilight  of  history. 

The  visitor  in  the  fo'cas'le  exhibited  a  neat  row  of 
teeth  and  no  resentment  whatever  at  Jim's  remark. 
But  a  sharp  glitter  shot  from  his  eyes  as  he  re 
plied  suavely: 


ON    BOARD   THE   JEANNE   D'ARC     89 

"Monsieur  has  doubtless  mistaken  this  ship,  and 
probably  its  master  also,  for  some  other  less  worthy 
adventurer  on  the  sea.  For  that  very  reason  I  have 
come  to  set  you  right.  It  may  be  that  I  have  my 
quixotic  moments.  At  any  rate,  I  have  a  fancy  to 
give  you  a  gentleman's  chance.  Monsieur,  I  regret 
the  necessity  of  being  inhospitable,  but  I  am  forced 
to  say  that  you  must  quit  the  shelter  of  this  yacht 
within  twenty- four  hours." 

The  thin,  sarcastic  voice  and  clean-cut  syllables 
fanned  the  flame  of  Jimmy's  rage.  He  felt  im 
potent,  moreover,  which  never  serves  as  a  poultice 
to,  anger.  But  he  got  himself  in  hand,  though  im 
itation  courtesy  was  not  much  in  his  line.  He 
tuned  his  big  hearty  voice  to  a  pitch  with  the  French 
man's  nasal  pipe,  and  clipped  off  his  words  in  mimi 
cry. 

"And  to  whom,  pray,  shall  I  have  the  honor  to 
say  farewell,  at  the  auspicious  moment  when  I  jump 
overboard  ?" 

"Gently,  you  American,  gently!"  said  the  other. 
"My  friends,  and  some  of  my  enemies,  know  me  as 
Monsieur  Chatelard."  As  he  paused  for  an  impres 
sive  instant,  Jim,  grabbing  his  blanket,  stood  up  in 
derision  and  executed  an  elaborate  bow  in  as  foreign 


90  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

a  manner  as  he  could  command.    Monsieur  Chate- 
lard  politely  waved  him  down  and  continued : 

' 'But  pray  do  not  trouble  to  give  me  your  card! 
I  had  rather  say  adieu  to  Monsieur  the  Unknown, 
whose  daring  and  temper  I  so  much  admire.  But 
I  certainly  misunderstood  your  violent  remark  a 
moment  ago,  did  I  not  ?  You  can  not  possibly  have 
any  ground  of  quarrel  with  me." 

"I  thought  you  stole  my  money-belt." 

Monsieur  smiled  and  waved  a  deprecatory  hand. 
"You  have  already  dismissed  that  idea,  I  am  certain. 
A  money-belt,  between  gentlemen!  Moreover,  you 
should  thank  me  for  so  much  as  recognizing  the 
gentleman  in  you,  since  you  are  without  the  custom 
ary  trappings  of  our  class. " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Jim.  But  Monsieur 
Chatelard  was  now  imperturbable.  He  continued 
blandly : 

"Since  you  are  fond  of  sea-baths,  you  will  no 
doubt  enjoy  a  plunge — to-night  possibly.  As  we 
have  made  rather  slow  progress,  we  are  really  not 
so  far  from  shore.  Yes,  on  second  thought,  I  would 
by  all  means  advise  you  to  take  your  departure  to 
night.  Swim  back  to  shore  the  way  you  came.  In 
any  case,  your  absence  is  desired.  There  will  be  no 


ON   BOARD   THE   JEANNE   D'ARC     91 

room  or  provision  or  water  for  you  on  board  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc  after  to-night.  Is  my  meaning  clear?" 

Jim  was  watching,  as  well  as  he  could,  the  immo 
bile,  expressionless  face,  and  did  not  immediately 
note  that  Monsieur  Chatelard  had  drawn  a  small, 
shiny  object  from  his  hip  pocket  and  was  holding  it 
carelessly  in  his  lap.  As  his  gaze  focussed  on  the  re 
volver,  however,  he  did  the  one  thing,  perhaps,  which 
at  that  moment  could  have  put  the  Frenchman  off 
his  guard.  He  threw  his  head  back  and  laughed 
aloud. 

But  before  his  laugh  had  time  to  echo  in  the  nar 
row  fo'cas'le,  Jim  leaped  from  his  bunk  upon  his 
tormentor,  like  a  cat  upon  a  mouse,  seized  his  right 
hand  in  a  paralyzing  grip,  and  was  himself  thrown 
violently  to  the  floor.  The  struggle  was  brief,  for 
the  Frenchman  was  no  match  for  Jim  in  strength 
and  scarcely  superior  to  him  in  skill ;  but  it  took  one 
of  Jim's  old  wrestling  feints  to  get  the  better  of  his 
opponent.  He  came  out,  in  five  seconds,  with  the 
pistol  in  his  hand.  Monsieur  Chatelard,  a  bit  breath 
less,  but  not  greatly  discomposed,  peered  out  at  him 
from  the  edge  of  the  opposite  bunk,  where  he  sat 
uncomfortably.  His  cynical  voice  capped  the  strug 
gle  like  a  streak  of  pitch. 


92  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Pray  keep  the  weapon.  You  are  welcome, 
though  your  methods  are  somewhat  surprising. 
Had  I  known  them  earlier,  I  might  have  offered  you 
my  little  toy." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  said  Jimmy.  "I  thought 
you  might  not  be  used  to  firearms,  that's  all." 

The  varnished  surface  of  Monsieur  Chatelard's 
countenance  gave  no  evidence  of  his  having  heard 
Jim's  remark. 

"Don't  fancy  that  your  abrupt  movements  have 
deprived  me  of  what  authority  I  may  happen  to  pos 
sess  on  this  vessel.  My  request  as  to  your  future 
action  still  stands,  unless  you  had  rather  one  of  my 
faithful  men  should  assist  you  in  carrying  out  my 
purpose." 

Hambleton  stood  with  legs  wide  apart  to  keep  his 
balance,  regarding  the  weapon  in  his  hand,  from 
which  his  gaze  traveled  to  the  man  on  the  bunk. 
When  it  came  to  dialogue,  he  was  no  match  for  this 
sarcastic  purveyor  of  words.  He  wondered  whether 
Monsieur  Chatelard  was  actually  as  cool  as  he  ap 
peared.  As  he  stood  there,  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  pitched 
forward  until  it  seemed  that  she  could  never  right 
herself,  then  slowly  and  laboriously  she  rode  the 
waves  again. 


ON    BOARD   THE   JEANNE   D'ARC     93 

"You  are  a  more  picturesque  villain  than  I 
thought,"  remarked  James.  "You  have  all  the 
tricks  of  the  stage  hero — secret  passages,  fancy 
weapons,  and — crowning  glory — a  fatal  gift  of 
gab!" 

Monsieur  Chatelard  arose,  making  his  way  toward 
the  hatch. 

"Many  thanks.  I  can  not  return  the  compli 
ment  in  such  a  happy  choice  of  English,"  he  scoffed, 
"but  I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  have  rarely  seen  so 
striking  and  unique  a  figure  as  I  now  behold;  cer 
tainly  never  on  the  stage,  to  which  you  so  politely 
refer." 

But  James  was  too  deeply  intent  on  his  next  move 
to  be  embarrassed  by  his  lack  of  clothes.  Not  in 
vain  had  his  gorge  risen  almost  at  first  sight  of  this 
man.  He  stepped  quickly  in  front  of  Monsieur 
Chatelard,  blocking  his  exit  up  the  ladder,  while 
the  revolver  in  his  hand  looked  straight  between  the 
Frenchman's  eyes. 

Whatever  Chatelard's  crimes  were,  he  was  not  a 
coward.  He  did  not  flinch,  but  his  eyes  gleamed  like 
cold  steel  as  Jim  cornered  him. 

"Now,"  said  Jim,  "I  have  my  turn."  Wrath 
burned  in  his  heart, 


94  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Captain  Paquin!  Antoine,  Antoine!"  called 
Chatelard.  No  one  answered  the  call  of  the  master 
of  the  ship,  but  even  as  the  two  men  measured  their 
force  one  against  the  other,  they  were  arrested  by  a 
commotion  above.  Voices  were  heard  shouting, 
trampling  feet  were  running  back  and  forth  over  the 
deck,  and  a  moment  later  the  ship's  cook  came  tum 
bling  down  the  hatchway,  screaming  in  terror.  He 
glared  unheeding  at  the  two  men,  and  his  teeth  chat 
tered.  Fear  had  possession  of  him. 

Jim  lifted  his  revolver  well  out  of  reach,  and 
backed  off  from  Chatelard.  For  the  first  time  dur 
ing  the  interview  between  the  American  and  the 
Frenchman,  the  two  now  faced  each  other  as  man  to 
man,  with  the  mask  of  their  suspicions,  their  vanities 
and  their  hate  cast  aside. 

"What  is  the  matter?  What  is  this  fool  saying?" 
Jim  asked  in  loathing. 

At  last  Monsieur  Chatelard  looked  at  Jim  with 
eyes  of  fear.  His  face  became  so  pale  and  drawn 
that  it  resembled  a  sponge  from  which  the  last  drop 
of  water  had  been  pressed. 

"He  says  the  yacht  is  half  full  of  water — that 
she  is  sinking,"  the  Frenchman  said. 

"Sinking!"  echoed  Jim,  bearing  down  again,  with 


ON    BOARD   THE   JEANNE   D'ARC     95 

lowered  revolver,  on  his  enemy.  "Well  and  good! 
You're  going  to  be  drowned,  not  shot,  after  all! 
And  now  you  shall  speak,  you  scamp !  Your  game's 
up,  whatever  happens.  Get  up  and  lead  the  way, 
quick,  and  show  me  in  what  part  of  this  infernal 
boat  you  are  hiding  Agatha  Redmond." 

Chatelard  started  toward  the  hatchway,  followed 
sharply  by  Jim's  revolver,  but  at  the  foot  of  the 
ladder  he  turned  his  contemptuous,  sneering  face 
toward  Jim,  with  the  remark : 

"Your  words  are  the  words  of  a  fool,  you  pig  of 
an  American!  There  is  no  lady  aboard  this  yacht, 
and  I  never  so  much  as  heard  of  your  Agatha  Red 
mond.  Otherwise,  I'd  be  pleased  to  play  Mercury  to 
your  Venus." 

To  Jim's  ears,  every  syllable  the  Frenchman  spoke 
was  an  insult,  and  the  last  words  rekindled  the  fire 
in  his  blood. 

"You  shall  pay  for  that  speech  here  and  now!" 
he  yelled ;  and,  discarding  his  revolver,  he  dealt  the 
Frenchman  a  short-arm  blow.  Chatelard,  trying  to 
dodge,  tripped  over  the  base  of  the  ladder  and  went 
down  heavily  on  the  floor  of  the  fo'cas'le.  He  had 
apparently  lost  consciousness. 

As  Jim  saw  his  victim  stretched  on  the  floor,  he 


96  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

turned  away  with  loathing.  He  picked  up  his  re 
volver  and  went  up  the  ladder.  It  was  already  dark, 
and  confusion  reigned  on  deck.  But  through  the 
clamor,  Jim  made  out  something  near  the  truth :  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc  was  leaking  badly,  and  no  time  was  to 
be  lost  if  she,  with  her  passengers  and  crew,  were  to 
be  saved, 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ROPE  LADDER 

'THHE  near  prospect  of  a  conclusive  struggle  for 
life  is  a  sharp  tonic  to  the  adventurous  soul.  The 
actual  final  summons  to  that  Other  Room  is  met 
variously.  There  is  Earthly  Dignity,  who  answers 
even  this  last  tap  at  the  door  with  a  fitting  and  quot 
able  rejoinder ;  there  is  Deathbed  Repentance,  whose 
unction  in  momenta  mortis  is  doubtless  a  comfort  to 
pious  relatives;  and  there  are  Chivalry  and  Valor, 
twin  youths  who  go  to  the  unknown  banquet  singing 
and  bearing  their  garlands  of  joy. 

But  with  the  chance  of  a  fight  for  life,  there  is  a 
sharp-sweet  tang  that  sends  some  spirits  galloping 
to  the  contest.  "Dauntless  the  slughorn  to  his  lips 
he  set — "  making  ready  for  the  last  good  run. 

When  Jim  descended  the  hatchway  after  recon- 
noitering  on  deck,  Chatelard  was  gone.  The  ship's 
cook  was  rummaging  in  a  sailor's  kit  that  he  had 
drawn  from  a  locker.  Jim  mentally  considered  the 
situation.  The  seamen  had  no  doubt  exaggerated 

97 


98  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

the  calamity,  but  without  question  there  was  serious 
trouble.  Were  the  pumps  working?  How  far  were 
they  from  shore?  If  hopelessly  distant  from  shore, 
were  they  in  the  course  of  passing  steamers  ?  Would 
any  one  look  after  Miss  Redmond's  safety?  Mon 
sieur  Chatelard  had  said  that  she  was  not  on  board, 
but  James  did  not  believe  it. 

While  these  thoughts  flew  through  his  mind, 
James  had  been  absently  watching  while  the  cook 
turned  his  treasures  out  upon  his  bunk,  and  pawed 
them  over  with  trembling  hands.  There  were  in 
numerable  little  things,  besides  a  stiff  white  shirt,  a 
cheap  shiny  Bible,  a  stuffed  parrot  and  several  wads 
of  clothes.  And  among  the  mess  Jim  caught  sight 
of  a  piece  of  stitched  canvas  that  looked  familiar. 

"Hi,  you  there!  That's  my  money-belt!"  he 
cried,  and  jumped  forward  to  claim  his  own.  But  in 
his  movement  he  failed  to  calculate  with  the  waves. 
The  yacht  gave  another  of  her  deep-sea  plunges,  and 
Jimmy,  thrown  against  his  bunk,  saw  the  cook  grab 
his  kit  and  make  for  the  ladder.  He  regained  his 
feet  only  in  time  to  follow  at  arm's  length  up  the 
hatchway.  At  the  top  he  threw  himself  down,  like 
a  baseball  runner  making  his  base,  after  the  seaman's 
legs;  but  instead  of  a  foot,  he  found  himself  clutch- 


THE   ROPE   LADDER  99 

ing  one  of  the  wads  of  clothes  that  trailed  after  the 
cook's  bundle.  He  caught  it  firmly  and  kept  it,  but 
the  ship's  cook  and  the  rest  of  his  booty  disappeared 
like  a  rabbit  into  its  burrow. 

Jim  sat  down  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  and  exam 
ined  his  haul.  It  was  a  pair  of  woolen  trousers,  and 
they  were  of  generous  size.  He  spread  them  out  on 
the  deck.  Round  him  were  unmistakable  signs  of 
demoralization.  The  second  officer  was  ordering 
the  men  to  the  pumps  in  stern  tones ;  the  yacht  was 
pitching  wildly  and  growing  darkness  was  settling 
on  the  face  of  the  turbulent  waters.  But  in  spite  of 
it  all,  Jimmy's  spirit  leaped  forth  in  laughter  as  he 
thought  of  his  brief,  frantic  chase,  and  its  result  in 
this  capture  of  the  characteristic  vestiture  of  man. 

"What's  money  for,  anyway!"  he  laughed,  as  he 
got  up  and  clothed  himself  once  more. 

There  followed  hours  of  superhuman  struggle 
to  save  the  Jeanne  D'Arc.  Her  crew,  sufficient  in 
ordinary  weather,  was  too  small  to  cope  with  the 
storm  and  the  leaking  ship.  Ballast  had  to  be  shifted 
or  flung  overboard.  Repairs  had  to  be  attempted  in 
the  hold;  the  pumps  had  to  be  worked  incessantly. 
It  transpired  that  the  yacht  had  gone  far  out  of  her 
course  during  the  fog  the  night  before,  and  had 


ioo  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

tried  to  turn  inshore,  even  before  the  leak  was  dis 
covered.  No  one  knew  what  waters  they  were  that 
lashed  so  furiously  about  the  disabled  craft.  The 
storm  overhead  had  abated,  but  the  rage  of  the  sea 
was  unquelled.  Before  long  the  engine  was  stopped 
by  the  rising  water,  and  then  the  hand  pumps  were 
used.  There  was  some  hope  that  the  leak  had  been 
discovered  and  at  least  partly  repaired.  The  captain 
thought  that,  if  carefully  managed,  the  yacht  might 
hold  till  daylight. 

Jimmy  joined  the  gang  and  worked  like  a  Trojan, 
helping  wherever  a  man  was  needed,  shifting  ballast, 
untackling  the  boats,  handling  the  pump.  It  was  at 
the  pump  that  he  found  himself,  some  time  during 
the  night,  working  endlessly,  it  seemed.  Not  once 
had  he  lost  sight  of  the  real  purpose  of  his  presence 
on  the  yacht.  If  Agatha  Redmond  were  aboard  the 
unlucky  vessel — and  he  had  moments  of  curious  per 
plexity  about  it — he  was  there  to  watch  for  her 
safety.  He  pictured  her  sitting  somewhere  in  the 
endangered  vessel.  She  could  not  but  be  terrified 
at  her  predicament.  Whether  shipwreck  or  abduc 
tion  threatened  her,  she  must  feel  that  she  had 
indeed  fallen  into  the  hands  of  her  enemies. 

He  worked  his  turn  at  the  pump,  then  made  up  his 


THE   ROPE   LADDER  101 

mind  to  risk  no  further  delay,  but  to  search  the 
ship's  cabins.  She  was  in  one  of  them,  he  believed ; 
frightened  she  must  be,  possibly  ill.  He  had  done 
all  that  the  furthest  stretch  of  duty  could  demand  in 
assistance  to  the  ship.  He  would  find  Agatha  Red 
mond  at  any  cost,  if  she  were  aboard  the  Jeanne 
D'Arc.  Again  he  thought  to  himself  that  he  was 
glad  he  was  there.  Whatever  purpose  her  enemies 
had,  he  alone  was  on  her  side,  he  alone  could  do 
something  to  save  her. 

It  was  now  long  past  midnight,  but  not  pitch 
dark  either  on  deck  or  on  the  sea.  The  electric 
lights  had  gone  out  long  before,  but  lanterns  had 
been  swung  here  and  there  from  the  deck  fixtures. 
As  Jimmy  came  up,  he  thought  the  men  were  pre 
paring  to  lower  the  boats,  but  when  he  asked  about 
it  in  his  difficult  French,  the  sailor  shook  his  head. 
There  were  more  people  about  than  he  supposed 
the  yacht  carried :  several  seamen,  three  or  four 
other  men,  and  a  fat  woman  sitting  apathetically 
on  a  pile  of  rope.  He  went  from  group  to  group, 
and  from  end  to  end  of  the  yacht,  looking  for  one 
woman's  face  and  figure.  He  saw  Monsieur  Chate- 
lard,  examining  one  of  the  boats.  He  ran  down 
the  saloon  stairway,  determined  to  search  the  cabins 


102  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

before  he  gave  up  his  quest.  One  moment  he 
prayed  that  the  words  of  Chatelard  might  be  true, 
and  that  she  had  never  been  aboard  the  yacht;  the 
next  moment  he  prayed  he  might  find  her  behind  the 
next  closed  door. 

As  James  searched  below  deck,  a  house  palatial 
disclosed  itself,  even  in  the  dim  light  of  the  little 
lanterns.  Cabins  roomy  and  comfortable,  furnish 
ings  of  exquisite  taste,  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
cultured  and  the  rich  were  there.  Some  of  the 
cabin  doors  were  standing  open,  and  none  was 
locked.  Jimmy  beat  on  them,  called  from  room  to 
room,  finding  nothing.  Every  human  occupant  was 
gone.  Sick  at  heart,  he  again  rushed  on  deck.  Was 
he  mistaken,  after  all?  Or  had  they  hidden  her  in 
some  secret  part  of  the  ship  where  he  could  not  find 
her? 

When  Jimmy  got  back  to  the  deck  he  saw  that 
the  groups  had  gathered  on  the  port  side.  Sharp 
orders  were  being  given.  He  crowded  to  the  rail 
ing,  straining  his  eyes  to  see,  and  found  that  they 
were  transferring  the  ship's  company  to  the  boats. 
A  rope  ladder  swung  from  the  deck  to  a  boat  be 
neath,  which  bobbed  like  a  cork  beside  the  big, 
plunging  yacht.  Two  people  were  in  the  boat,  a 


THE   ROPE   LADDER  103 

sailor  standing  at  the  bow,  and  a  large  muffled  figure 
of  a  woman  sitting  in  the  stern.  Jimmy  at  once 
knew  her  to  be  the  apathetic  fat  woman  he  had 
seen  a  few  minutes  before  on  deck.  His  eye 
searched  the  company  crowded  about  the  top  of  the 
rope  ladder,  and  suddenly  his  heart  leaped.  There 
she  was,  at  the  edge  of  the  deck,  waiting  for  the 
captain  to  give  the  word  for  her  to  descend  to  the 
boat  below.  As  Jimmy's  eyes  grew  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  he  saw  her  more  and  more  plainly: 
a  pale  face  framed  in  a  dark  hood,  a  tall,  cloaked 
figure  waiting  calmly  to  obey  the  word  from  the 
superior  officer. 

It  was  the  third  time  Jimmy  had  seen  her,  but  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  found  one  dearer  than  himself. 
His  eyes  dwelt  on  her.  She  was  not  terrified;  her 
nerves  were  not  shaken.  "I  am  ready,"  she  said, 
turning  to  the  captain.  It  was  the  same  fine,  free 
voice,  suggesting — Oh,  what  did  it  not  suggest! 
Never  this  dark,  wild  night  of  danger!  Jimmy 
thrilled  to  it  again  as  he  had  thrilled  to  it  once  be 
fore.  He  waved  jubilant  hands.  "Agatha  Red 
mond!"  he  called,  across  the  space  and  heads  that 
divided  them. 

Whether  she  heard  his  call  he  did  not  know.    At 


104  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

that  moment  the  word  was  given,  and  she  turned  an 
almost  smiling  face  to  the  captain  in  reply.  She 
knelt  to  the  deck  and  got  footing  on  the  slippery 
rope.  Men  above  held  it  and  helped  as  best  they 
could,  while  the  sailor  below  waited  to  receive  her 
into  the  little  boat.  She  was  steady  and  quick  as  a 
woman  in  such  a  perilous  position  could  be.  As 
she  descended,  the  rowboat,  insecurely  held  to 
the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  slid  sternward  a  few  feet;  and 
while  she  waited  in  midair  for  the  boat  to  be  brought 
up  again,  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  gave  a  mighty  plunge. 
The  captain  shouted  from  the  deck,  a  sailor  yelled, 
then  another;  the  dipping  sea  tossed  the  yacht  so 
that  for  an  instant  the  boat  below  and  the  woman 
on  the  ladder  were  hidden  from  Jim's  view.  He 
climbed  over  the  rail  and  edged  along  the  nar 
row  margin  of  the  deck  until  he  was  a  few  feet 
nearer  the  rope,  his  heart  thumping  with  fear  of 
calamity. 

And  even  as  the  thought  came,  the  thing  hap 
pened.  The  wrenching  of  the  ropes,  the  inse 
curity  of  their  fastenings,  some  blunder  on  the  part 
of  the  seamen — whatever  it  was,  the  rope  loos 
ened  like  a  filament  of  gauze,  and,  with  its  precious 
burden,  dropped  into  the  angry  water.  Before  a 


THE    ROPE   LADDER  105 

breath  could  be  drawn,  *the  black  waves  churned 
over  her  head. 

As,  for  the  second  time,  Jim  saw  disaster  en 
gulf  the  Vision  that  had  such  power  over  him,  he 
was  seized  by  a  cold  numbness. 

"Oh,  you  brutes!"  he  groaned  aloud;  but  his 
groan  had  scarcely  escaped  him  when  he  heard  loud 
altercation  among  the  men,  and  in  a  moment  the 
nasal  tones  of  Monsieur  Chatelard  commanding: 

"Never  mind !  Quick  with  the  boat  on  the  other 
side!" 

The  seamen  rushed  to  the  opposite  side,  now  im 
patient  to  make  the  boats.  In  the  fear  that  was 
growing  momently  upon  the  men,  there  was  no 
one  to  give  a  thought  to  the  vanished  woman. 
Jimmy  clung  to  the  rail  for  a  second,  peering  over 
the  water.  With  a  cry  of  gladness  he  saw  her  pale 
face  rise  to  the  surface  of  the  water  several  feet 
away  and  toward  the  bow. 

"Keep  up  a  second!  It's  all  right!"  he  shouted. 
Quick  as  thought  he  snatched  a  life  preserver  from 
its  place  on  the  rail,  and  ran  forward.  He  called 
thrice,  "Keep  up,  I'm  coming!"  then  threw  the 
cork  swiftly  and  accurately  to  the  very  spot  where 
she  floated.  A  second  longer  he  watched,  to  see  if 


io6  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

she  gained  it.  It  seemed  that  she  did,  and  yet  some 
thing  was  wrong.  She  was  not  able  to  right  herself 
immediately  in  the  water,  but  floundered  helplessly. 
Jimmy  knew  that  her  clothes  were  hampering  her, 
or  else  that  the  rope  ladder  had  entangled  her  feet. 

He  turned  and  got  his  balance  on  the  narrow 
ledge,  pointed  his  hands  high  above  his  head,  and 
took  a  good  breath.  Then  he  dove  toward  the  float 
ing  face.  When  he  came  to  the  surface  she  was 
there,  not  ten  strokes  away.  He  swam  to  her,  placed 
firm  hands  under  her  arms,  and  steadied  her  while 
she  cleared  her  feet  from  the  entangling  rope. 

"Thank  God !"  he  breathed.    "I'll  save  you  yet !" 


CHAPTER   VIII 

ON  THE  BREAST  OF  THE  SEA 

"/^*  AN  you  keep  afloat  in  this  roughness?" 
^•^    "I  think  so,  now  that  I  have  the  life  preserver. 
But  the  rope  scared  me  for  a  minute.    It  got  wound 
about  my  feet." 

"I  thought  so.  But  we  are  drifting  away  from 
the  boats,  and  should  swim  back  as  fast  as  we  can. 
Can  you  swim?" 

"Yes ;  better  when  I  get  rid  of  this  cloak.  Which 
way  is  the  yacht?  I've  lost  my  bearings." 

"Behind  us  over  there.  Put  your  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  I'll  take  you  along  until  you  get  your 
breath.  So!" 

The  girl  obeyed  implicitly,  "as  if  she  were  a  good, 
biddable  child,"  thought  Jim.  There  was  none  of 
the  terrified  clutching  at  a  rescuer  which  sometimes 
causes  disaster  to  two  instead  of  one.  Miss  Red 
mond  was  badly  shocked,  it  may  be;  but  she  was 
far  from  being  in  a  panic. 

107 


io8  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

"Now  for  the  boat.  Can  you  swim  a  little  faster  ? 
They'll  surely  come  back  to  pick  us  up,"  said  Jim, 
with  an  assumption  of  confidence  that  he  did  not 
feel.  They  could  hear  voices  from  the  yacht,  and 
could  follow,  partially,  what  was  going  on.  Miss 
Redmond  cast  loose  her  cloak,  put  a  hand  on  Jim's 
shoulder,  and  together  they  swam  nearer.  "Ahoy!" 
shouted  Jim.  "Give  us  a  hand !"  But  the  boat  with 
the  large  woman  in  it  had  put  about  to  the  other 
side  of  the  yacht.  "Ahoy!  This  way!"  shouted 
Jim.  "Throw  us  a  rope!"  he  cried;  but  if  any  of 
the  seamen  of  the  Jeanne  UArc  heard,  they  paid 
no  heed. 

"Come  this  way,"  said  James  to  his  companion. 
"We'll  catch  them  on  the  other  side  of  the  yacht." 

"I  can't  swim  much  in  all  these  clothes,"  said 
Agatha. 

"Never  mind,  then.  Hold  on  to  the  life  preserver 
and  to  me,  and  we'll  make  it  all  right."  On  the 
crests  of  the  swelling  waves  they  swam  round  the 
dark  bulk  of  the  vessel,  and  heard  plainly  the  clamor 
of  the  men  as  they  embarked  in  the  small  boats. 
Two  of  them  seemed  to  be  fastened  together,  raft- 
like,  on  the  starboard  side  of  the  yacht,  and  were 
quickly  filled  with  men.  Prayers  and  curses  were 


ON   THE   BREAST   OF   THE   SEA      109 

audible,  with  the  loose,  wild  inflexion  of  the  man 
who  is  in  the  clutch  of  an  overmastering  fear.  As 
long  as  there  had  been  work  for  them  to  do  on  the 
ship,  they  had  done  it,  though  sullenly;  they  had 
even  controlled  themselves  until  the  attempt  was 
made  to  place  the  two  women  in  safety.  But  after 
that  their  self-restraint  vanished.  The  orders  of 
the  officers  were  unheeded;, the  men  leaped  and 
scrambled  and  slid  into  the  boats,  and  in  a  minute 
more  they  had  cut  loose  from  the  Jeanne  D'Arc. 

James  dimly  perceived  that  the  boats  were  mov 
ing  away  from  them  into  the  darkness.  Then  he 
called,  and  called  again,  redoubling  his  speed  in 
swimming ;  but  only  the  beat  of  the  oars  came  back 
to  him  over  the  water.  The  heart  in  him  stood  still 
with  an  unacknowledged  fear.  Was  it  possible  they 
were  absolutely  leaving  them  behind  ?  Surely  there 
were  other  boats.  He  raised  his  voice  and  called 
again  and  again.  At  last  one  voice,  careless  and 
brutal,  called  back  something  in  reply.  Jim  turned 
questioning  eyes  to  the  girl  beside  him,  whose  pale 
face  was  clearly  discernible  on  the  dark  water. 

"He  says  the  boats  are  all  full." 

"Then  we  must  hurry  and  make  for  the  yacht. 
Where  is  she?" 


no  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

The  Jeanne  D'Arc  had  slipped  away  from  them 
into  the  darkness. 

"She  was  this  way,  I  thought.  Yes,  I  am  sure," 
said  Agatha,  pointing  into  the  night.  But  though 
they  swam  that  way,  they  did  not  come  upon  her. 
They  turned  a  little,  and  then  turned  again,  and 
presently  they  lost  every  sense  of  direction. 

In  all  his  life  Jim  was  never  again  destined  to  go 
through  so  blacken  hour  as  that  which  followed 
the  abandonment  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc.  His  cour 
age  left  him,  and  his  spirit  sank  to  that  leaden, 
choking  abyss  where  light  did  not  exist.  Since  the 
immediate  object  of  saving  the  ship,  for  which  he 
had  worked  as  hard  as  any  other,  had  been  given 
up,  the  next  in  importance  was  to  save  the  woman 
who,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  had  been  aboard. 
It  was  beyond  his  power  of  imagination  to  suppose 
that  any  other  motive  of  action  could  possibly  pre 
vail,  even  among  her  enemies.  That  they  should 
leave  her  to  drown,  while  they  themselves  fled  to 
comparative  safety  in  a  boat,  was  more  than  he 
could  believe. 

"Surely  they  do  not  mean  it ;  they  must  return,  for 
you,  at  least." 

The  girl  beside  him  knew  better,  but  she  was  con- 


ON    THE   BREAST   OF   THE    SEA      in 

scions  of  the  paralyzing  despair  in  her  companion's 
heart,  and  made  a  show  of  being  cheerful. 

"When  they  find  they  are  safe  they  may  think  of 
us/5  she  said.  "But  the  men  were  already  crazed 
with  fear,  even  before  the  leak  was  discovered.  One 
of  their  mates  on  the  voyage  over  was  a  fortune 
teller,  and  he  prophesied  danger  to  them  all  on  their 
next  trip.  After  they  had  come  into  port,  the  for 
tune-teller  himself  died.  And  who  can  blame  them 
for  their  fear?  They  are  all  superstitious;  and  as 
no  one  ever  regarded  their  fears,  now  they  have  no 
regard  for  anybody's  feelings  but  their  own." 

"But  we  are  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic,  no  one 
knows  where.  We  may  drift  for  days — we  may 
starve — the  Lord  only  knows  what  will  happen  to 
us!" 

Agatha,  who  had  been  floating,  swam  a  little 
nearer  and  laid  her  hand  on  Jim's  shoulder,  until  he 
looked  into  her  face.  It  was  full  of  strength  and 
brightness. 

"  The  sea  is  His  also,'  "  she  quoted  gently.  "Be 
sides,  we  may  get  picked  up,"  she  went  on.  "I'm 
very  well  off,  for  my  part,  as  you  see.  Can  swim  or 
rest  floating,  thanks  to  this  blessed  cork  thing,  and 
not  at  all  hurt  by  the  fall  from  the  rope.  But  I 


H2  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

must  get  rid  of  my  shoes  and  some  of  my  clothes, 
if  I  have  to  swim." 

It  is  awkward  to  kick  off  one's  shoes  and  divest 
oneself  of  unnecessary  clothing  in  the  water,  and 
Agatha  laughed  at  herself  as  she  did  it.  "Not  ex 
actly  a  bathing  suit,  but  this  one  black  skirt  will  have 
to  do.  The  others  must  go.  It  was  my  skirts  that 
caused  the  mischief  with  the  rope  at  first.  And  I 
was  scared !" 

"You  had  a  right  to  be."  Jim  helped  her  keep 
afloat,  and  presently  he  saw  that,  freed  from  the 
entanglement  of  so  many  clothes,  she  was  as  much  at 
home  in  the  water  as  he.  Suddenly  she  turned  to 
him,  caught  by  some  recollection  that  almost  eluded 
her. 

"I  don't  think  we  are  anywhere  near  the  middle  of 
the  Atlantic,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  James  was 
silent,  eating  the  bitter  bread  of  despair,  in  spite  of 
the  woman's  brave  wish  to  comfort  him.  They  were 
swimming  slowly  as  they  talked,  still  hoping  to  reach 
the  yacht.  They  rose  on  the  breast  of  the  waves, 
paused  now  and  then  till  a  quieter  moment  came, 
and  always  kept  near  each  other  in  the  pale  blue 
darkness. 

"Old  Sophie  said  something — that  some  one  had 


ON   THE    BREAST    OF   THE    SEA      113 

tampered  with  the  wheel,  I  think.  At  any  rate,  she 
said  we'd  never  get  far  from  shore  with  this  crew." 

James  considered  the  case.  "But  even  suppose  we 
are  within  a  mile  or  two,  say,  of  the  shore,  could 
you  ever  swim  two  miles  in  this  heavy  sea?" 

"It  is  growing  calmer  every  minute.  See,  I  can 
do  very  well,  even  swimming  alone.  It  must  be  near 
morning,  too,  and  that's  always  a  good  thing." 
There  was  the  shadow  of  a  laugh  in  her  voice. 

"Morning?  That  depends,"  growled  Jim.  He 
was  being  soothed  in  spite  of  himself,  and  in  spite 
of  the  direfulness  of  their  situation.  But  bad  as  the 
situation  was,  and  would  be  in  any  case,  he  could  not 
deny  the  proposition  that  morning  and  daylight 
would  make  it  better. 

"But  aren't  you  tired  already?  You  must  be." 
James  turned  closer  to  her,  trying  to  read  her  face. 
"It  was  a  long  night  of  anxiety,  even  before  we  left 
the  boat.  Weren't  you  frightened?" 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  I've  been  getting  used  to 
frights  of  late,  if  one  can  get  used  to  them."  Again 
there  was  the  laugh  in  her  voice,  under  all  its  seri 
ousness,  even  when  she  added :  "I'm  not  sure  that 
this  isn't  safer  than  being  on  board  the  Jeanne 
D'Arc,  after  all!" 


ii4  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

It  was  characteristic  of  James  that  he  forebore  to 
take  advantage  of  the  opening  this  speech  offered. 
The  possible  reason  of  her  abduction,  her  treatment 
on  board  the  yacht,  her  relation  to  Monsieur  Chate- 
lard — it  was  all  a  mystery,  but  he  could  not,  at  that 
moment,  seek  to  solve  it.  Her  remark  remained  un 
answered  for  a  little  time ;  at  last  he  said :  "Then  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc  must  have  been  pretty  bad." 

"It  was,"  she  said  simply. 

Jim  wondered  whether  she  knew  more  about  the 
crime  of  which  she  was  the  victim  than  he  knew,  or  if 
she  had  discovered  aught  concerning  it  while  she  was 
a  prisoner  on  the  yacht.  Granting  that  her  person  was 
so  valuable  that  a  man  of  Monsieur  Chatelard's  cali 
ber  would  commit  a  crime  to  get  possession  of  it, 
why  should  he  have  abandoned  her  when  there  was 
plainly  some  chance  of  safety  in  the  boats?  He 
could  not  conceive  of  Monsieur  Chatelard's  risking 
his  neck  in  an  affair  of  gallantry;  cupidity  alone 
would  account  for  his  part  in  the  drama.  James 
went  over  and  over  the  situation,  as  far  as  he  under 
stood  it,  but  he  did  none  of  his  thinking  aloud.  It 
flashed  on  his  mind  that  Miss  Redmond  must  al 
ready  have  separated  him,  in  her  thoughts,  from  the 
other  people  on  the  yacht;  though  perhaps  her  trust 


ON   THE    BREAST    OF   THE    SEA      115 

was  instinctive,  arising  from  her  own  need  of  help. 
How  could  she  know  that  he  had  risked  his  neck 
twice,  now,  to  follow  the  Vision? 

Swimming  slowly,  with  Agatha's  hand  at  times 
on  his  shoulder,  James  turned  his  mind  sharply  to 
a  consideration  of  their  present  position.  They  had 
been  alternately  swimming  and  floating,  hoping  to 
come  upon  the  yacht.  The  darkness  of  the  night 
was  penetrable,  so  that  they  could  see  a  fairly  large 
circle  of  water  about  them,  but  there  was  no  shad 
ow  of  the  Jeanne  D' Arc.  Save  for  the  running  surge 
of  the  waters,  all  was  silence.  The  pale  forerunners 
of  dawn  had  appeared.  Their  swim  after  the  boats  of 
the  Jeanne  D'Arc  had  warmed  their  blood,  so  that 
for  a  while  they  were  not  conscious  of  the  chill 
of  the  water.  But  as  the  minutes  lengthened,  one 
by  one,  fatigue  and  cold  numbed  their  bodies.  It 
was  a  test  of  endurance  for  a  strong  man ;  as  for  the 
girl,  Jim  wondered  at  her  strength  and  courage. 
She  swam  superbly,  with  unhurried,  steady  strokes. 
If  she  grew  chatteringly  cold,  she  would  start  into 
a  vigorous  swim,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  James. 
If  she  lost  her  breath  with  the  hard  exercise,  she 
would  take  his  hand,  "so  as  not  to  lose  you,"  she 
would  say,  and  rest  on  the  breast  of  the  waves.  The 


n6  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

wind  dropped  and  the  sea  grew  quiet,  so  that  they 
were  no  more  cruelly  buffeted,  but  rocked  up  and 
down  on  its  heaving  bosom. 

Once,  while  they  were  "resting"  on  the  water, 
Agatha  broke  a  long  silence  with,  "I  wonder — "  but 
did  not  at  once  say  what  she  wondered  at.  Jim  said 
nothing,  but  she  knew  he  was  waiting  and  listening. 

"Suppose  this  should  be  the  Great  Gateway,"  she 
said  at  last,  very  slowly,  but  quite  cheerfully  and 
naturally.  "I  am  wondering  what  there  is  beyond." 

"I've  often  wondered,  too,"  said  Jim. 

"I've  sometimes  thought,  and  I've  said  it,  too, 
that  I  was  crazy  to  die,  just  to  see  what  happens," 
Agatha  went  on,  laughing  a  little  at  her  own  mem 
ories.  "But  I  find  I'm  not  at  all  eager  for  it,  now, 
when  it  would  be  so  easy  to  go  under  and  not  come 
up  again.  Are  you?" 

"No,  I've  never  felt  eager  to  die;  least  of  all, 
now." 

Agatha  was  silent  a  while. 

"What  do  you  think  death  means?  Shall  we  be 
we  to-morrow,  say,  provided  we  can't  keep  afloat?" 
she  asked  by  and  by. 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Jim.  "I  don't  know 
why  or  how,  but  I  guess  we  go  on  somewhere ;  and 


ON   THE   BREAST   OF   THE    SEA      117 

I  rather  think  our  best  moments  here — our  moments 
of  happiness  or  heroism,  if  we  ever  have  any — are 
going  to  be  the  regular  thing."  Jim  laughed  a  little, 
partly  at  his  own  lame  ending,  and  partly  because  he 
felt  Agatha's  hand  closing  more  tightly  over  his.  He 
didn't  want  her  to  get  blue  just  yet,  after  her  brave 
fight. 

But  Agatha  wasn't  blue.  She  answered  thought 
fully  :  "That  isn't  a  bad  idea,"  and  then  cheerfully 
turned  to  a  consideration  of  the  possibilities  of  a 
rescue  at  dawn. 

James  had  evolved  a  plan  to  wait  till  enough  light 
came  to  enable  them  to  reach  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  if 
she  was  still  afloat;  then  to  climb  aboard  and  hunt 
for  provisions  and  life  preservers  or  something  to 
use  for  a  raft.  If  he  could  do  this,  then  they  would 
be  in  a  somewhat  better  plight,  at  least  for  a  time. 
He  prayed  that  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  might  still  be 
alive. 

The  two  talked  little,  leaving  silences  between 
them  full  of  wonder.  The  details  of  life,  the  ordi 
nary  personalities,  were  blotted  out.  Without  ex 
planation  or  speech  of  any  kind,  they  understood 
each  other.  They  were  not,  in  this  hour,  members 
of  a  complex  and  artificial  society;  they  were  not 


ii8  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

even  man  and  woman ;  they  were  two  souls  stripped 
of  everything  but  the  need  for  fortitude  and  sweet 
ness. 

At  last  came  the  dawn.  Slowly  the  blue  curtain 
of  night  lifted,  lifted,  until  it  became  the  blue  cur 
tain  of  sky,  endlessly  far  away  and  far  above.  A 
twinkling  star  looked  down  on  the  cup  of  ocean, 
glimmered  a  moment  and  was  gone.  The  light 
strengthened.  A  pearly,  iridescent  quiver  came  upon 
the  waters,  repeating  itself  wave  after  wave,  and 
heralded  the  coming  of  the  Lord  Sun  over  the  great 
murmuring  sea.  As  the  light  grew,  they  could  see 
a  constantly  widening  circle  of  ocean,  of  which  they 
were  the  center.  As  they  rose  and  fell  with  the 
waves,  the  horizon  fell  and  rose  to  their  vision,  dim 
and  undefined.  Hand  in  hand  they  floated  in  vapor 
ous  silver. 

"The  day  has  come  at  last,  thank  God !"  breathed 
James. 

"Yes,  thank  God !"  answered  the  girl. 

"Are  you  very  cold  ?" 

"The  sun  will  soon  warm  us." 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  swim?" 

"In  England,  mostly  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  but  I'm 
not  half  such  a  dolphin  as  you  are." 


ON   THE    BREAST   OF   THE    SEA      119 

"Oh,  well,  boys  have  to  swim,  you  know,  and  I 
was  a  boy  once,"  Jim  answered  awkwardly.  Pres 
ently  he  asked,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  awe :  "Have 
you  ever  seen  the  dawn — a  dawn  like  this — be 
fore?" 

"Never  one  like  this,"  she  whispered. 

When  daylight  came,  they  found  they  had  not 
traveled  far  from  the  scene  of  the  night's  disaster; 
or,  if  they  had,  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  had  drifted  with 
them.  She  was  still  afloat,  and  just  as  the  sun  rose 
they  saw  her,  apparently  not  far  away,  tossing  rud 
derless  to  the  waves.  There  was  no  sign  of  the 
ship's  boats. 

At  the  renewed  miracle  of  light,  and  at  sight  of 
the  yacht,  Jimmy's  hopes  were  reborn.  His  spirit 
bathed  in  the  wonder  of  the  day  and  was  made 
strong  again.  The  night  with  its  horrors  of  strug 
gle  and  its  darkness  was  past,  forgotten  in  the  flush 
of  hope  that  came  with  the  light. 

Together  they  struck  out  toward  the  yacht,  fresh 
with  new  courage.  Now  that  he  could  see  plainly, 
Jim  swam  always  a  little  behind  Agatha,  keeping  a 
watchful  eye.  She  still  took  the  water  gallantly, 
nose  and  closed  mouth  just  topping  the  wave,  like  a 
spaniel.  An  occasional  side-stroke  would  bring  her 


120  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

face  level  to  the  water,  with  a  backward  smile  for 
her  companion.  He  gloried  in  her  spirit,  even  while 
he  feared  for  her  strength. 

It  was  a  longer  pull  to  the  yacht  than  they  had 
counted  upon,  a  heavy  tax  on  their  powers  of  en 
durance.  Jim  came  up  to  find  Agatha  floating  on 
her  back  and  put  his  hand  under  her  shoulders, 
steadying  her  easily. 

"Now  you  can  really  rest,"  he  said. 

"I've  looked  toward  the  horizon  so  long,  I 
thought  I'd  look  up,  way  up,  for  a  change,"  she  said 
cheerfully.  "That's  where  the  skylarks  go,  when 
they  want  to  sing — straight  up  into  heaven !" 

"Doesn't  it  make  you  want  to  sing?" 

She  showed  no  surprise  at  the  question. 

"Yes,  it  does,  almost.  But  just  as  I  thought  of 
the  skylarks,  I  remembered  something  else;  some 
thing  that  kept  haunting  me  in  the  darkness  all 
night — 

"  'Master  in  song,  good-by,  good-by, 
Down  to  the  dim  sea-line — ' 

I  thought  something  or  somebody  was  surely  lost 
down  in  'the  dim  sea-line'  last  night." 

"Who  can  tell  ?    But  I  had  a  better  thought  than 


ON   THE   BREAST   OF   THE    SEA      121 

yours :  Ulysses,  like  us,  swimming  over  the  Vine- 
dark  sea' !  Do  you  remember  it  ?  Then  two  days 
and  two  nights  on  the  resistless  waves  he  drifted; 
many  a  time  his  heart  faced  death.' ' 

"That's  not  a  bit  better  thought  than  mine ;  but  I 
like  it.  And  I  know  what  follows,  too.  'But  when 
the  fair-haired  dawn  brought  the  third  day,  then  the 
wind  ceased ;  there  came  a  breathless  calm ;  and  close 
at  hand  he  spied  the  coast,  as  he  cast  a  keen  glance 
forward,  upborne  on  a  great  wave.'  That's  it,  isn't 
it?" 

•  "I  don't  know,  but  I  hope  it  is.  The  wine-dark 
sea'  and  the  'rosy-fingered  dawn'  are  all  I  remem 
ber;  though  I'm  glad  you  know  what  comes  next. 
It's  a  good  omen.  But  look  at  the  yacht ;  she's  act 
ing  strange !" 

As  the  girl  turned  to  her  stroke,  their  attention 
was  caught  and  held  by  the  convulsions  of  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc.  There  was  a  grim  fascination  in  the 
sight. 

It  was  obvious  that  she  was  sinking.  While  they 
had  been  resting,  her  hull  had  sunk  toward  the 
water-line,  her  graceful  bulk  and  delicate  masts 
showing  strange  against  ocean  and  sky.  Now  she 
suddenly  tipped  down  at  her  stern;  her  bow  was 


122  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

thrown  up  out  of  the  water  for  an  instant,  only  to 
be  drawn  down  again,  slowly  but  irresistibly,  as  if 
she  were  pulled  by  a  giant's  unseen  hand.  With  a 
sudden  last  lurch  she  disappeared  entirely,  and  only 
widening  circles  fleetingly  marked  the  place  of  her 
going. 

The  two  in  the  water  watched  with  fascinated 
eyes,  filled  with  awe.  When  it  was  all  over  Agatha 
turned  to  her  companion  with  a  long-drawn  breath. 
Jim  looked  as  one  looks  whose  last  hope  has  failed. 

"I  could  never  have  let  you  go  aboard,  anyway!" 
He  loved  her  anew  for  that  speech,  but  knew  not 
how  to  meet  her  eyes. 

"Well,  Ulysses  lost  his  raft,  too !"  he  managed  to 
say. 

"He  saw  the  sunrise,  too,  just  as  we  have  seen  it ; 
and  he  saw  a  distant  island,  'that  seemed  a  shield 
laid  on  the  misty  sea.*  Let's  look  hard  now,  each 
time  the  wave  lifts  us.  Perhaps  we  also  shall  see  an 
island." 

"We  must  swim  harder;  you  are  chilled  through/' 

"Oh,  no,"  she  laughed.  "I  shivered  at  the  thought 
of  what  a  fright  I  must  look.  I  always  did  hate  to 
get  my  hair  wet." 

"You  look  all  right  to  me." 


ON   THE    BREAST    OF   THE    SEA      123 

They  were  able  to  laugh,  and  so  kept  up  heart. 
They  tried  to  calculate  the  direction  the  yacht  had 
taken  when  she  left  port,  and  where  the  land  might 
lie ;  and  when  they  had  argued  about  it,  they  set  out 
to  swim  a  certain  way.  In  their  hearts  each  felt 
that  any  calculation  was  futile,  but  they  pretended 
to  be  in  earnest.  They  could  not  see  far,  but  they 
created  for  themselves  a  goal  and  worked  toward  it, 
which  is  of  itself  a  happiness. 

So  they  watched  and  waited,  ages  long.  Hope 
came  to  them  again  presently.  James,  treading 
water,  thrust  up  his  head  and  scented  the  air. 

"I  smell  the  salt  marsh,  which  means  land !"  He 
sniffed  again.  "Yes,  decidedly!" 

A  moment  later  it  was  there,  before  their  vision — 
that  "shield  laid  on  the  misty  sea"  which  was  the 
land.  Only  it  was  not  like  a  shield,  but  a  rocky  spit 
of  coast  land,  with  fir  trees  farther  back.  James 
made  for  the  nearest  point,  though  his  heart  shrank 
to  see  how  far  away  it  was.  Fatigue  and  anxiety 
were  taking  their  toll  of  his  vigor.  Neither  one  had 
breath  to  spare  even  for  exultation  that  the  land  was 
in  sight.  Little  by  little  Agatha  grew  more  quiet, 
though  not  less  brave.  It  took  all  her  strength  to 
fight  the  water — that  mighty  element  which  indifler- 


124  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

ently  supports  or  engulfs  the  human  atom.  If  she 
feared,  she  made  no  sign.  Bravely  she  kept  her 
heart,  and  carefully  she  saved  her  strength,  swim 
ming  slowly,  resting  often,  and  wasting  no  breath  in 
talk. 

But  more  and  more  frequently  her  eyes  rested 
wistfully  on  James,  mutely  asking  him  for  help.  He 
watched  her  minute  by  minute,  often  begging  her  to 
let  him  help  her. 

"Oh,  no,  not  yet ;  I  can  go  on  nicety,  if  I  just  rest 
a  little.  There— thank  you." 

Once  she  looked  at  him  with  such  pain  in  her  eyes 
that  he  silently  took  her  hands,  placed  them  on  his 
shoulder  and  carried  her  along  with  his  stronger 
stroke.  She  was  reassured  by  his  strength,  and 
presently  she  slipped  away  from  him,  smiling  con 
fidently  again  as  she  swam  alongside. 

"I'm  all  right  now ;  but  I  suddenly  thought,  what 
if  anything  should  happen  to  you,  and  I  be  left 
alone!  Or  what  if  I  should  get  panicky  and  clutch 
you  and  drag  you  down,  the  way  people  do  some 
times!" 

"But  I  shan't  leave  you  alone,  and  you're  not  go 
ing  to  do  that !" 


ON   THE   BREAST   OF   THE    SEA      125 

Agatha  smiled,  but  could  only  say,  "I  hope  not !" 

She  forged  ahead  a  little,  and  presently  had  an 
other  moment  of  fright  on  looking  round  and  find 
ing  that  Jim  had  disappeared.  He  had  suddenly 
dived,  without  giving  her  warning.  He  came  up  a 
second  later,  puffing  and  spitting  the  bitter  brine ;  but 
his  face  was  radiant. 

"Rocks  and  seaweed!'*  he  cried.  "The  land  is 
near.  Come;  I  can  swim  and  take  you,  too,  easily. 
And  now  I  know  certainly  just  which  way  to  go. 
Come,  come !" 

Agatha  heard  it  all,  but  this  time  she  was  unable 
to  utter  a  word.  Jim  saw  her  stiff  lips  move  in  an 
effort  to  smile  or  speak,  but  he  heard  no  voice. 

"Keep  up,  keep  up,  dear  girl!"  he  cried.  "We'll 
soon  be  there.  Try,  try  to  keep  up !  Don't  lose  for 
a  moment  the  thought  that  you  are  near  land,  that 
you  are  almost  there.  We  are  safe,  you  can  go  on — 
only  a  few  moments  more !" 

Poor  Agatha  strove  as  Jim  bade  her,  gallantly, 
hearing  his  voice  as  through  a  thickening  wall ;  but 
she  had  already  done  her  best,  and  more.  She  strug 
gled  for  a  few  half-conscious  moments;  then  sud 
denly  her  arms  grew  limp,  her  eyes  closed,  and  her 


126  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

weight  came  upon  Jim  as  that  of  a  dead  person. 
Then  he  set  his  teeth  and  nerved  himself  to  make 
the  effort  of  his  life. 

It  is  no  easy  thing  to  strain  forward,  swimming 
the  high  seas,  bearing  above  the  surface  a  load 
which  on  land  would  make  a  strong  man  stagger. 
One  must  watch  one's  burden,  to  guard  against  mis 
hap  ;  one  must  save  breath  and  muscle,  and  keep  an 
eye  for  direction,  all  in  a  struggle  against  a  hostile 
element. 

The  goal  still  seemed  incredibly  far,  farther  than 
his  strength  could  go.  Yet  he  swam  on,  fighting 
against  the  heartbreaking  thought  that  his  compan 
ion  had  perhaps  gone  "down  to  the  dim  sea-line"  in 
very  truth.  She  had  been  so  brave,  so  strong.  She 
had  buoyed  up  his  courage  when  it  had  been  faint 
ing;  she  had  fought  splendidly  against  the  last  ter 
rible  inertia  of  exhaustion. 

"Courage !"  he  told  himself.  "We  must  make  the 
land !"  But  it  took  a  stupendous  effort.  His  strokes 
became  unequal,  some  of  them  feeble  and  ineffec 
tive;  his  muscles  ached  with  the  strain;  now  and 
then  a  strange  whirring  and  dizziness  in  his  head 
caused  him  to  wonder  dimly  whether  he  were  above 
or  below  water.  He  could  no  longer  swim  with 


ON   THE   BREAST    OF   THE    SEA      127 

closed  lips,  but  constantly  threw  his  head  back  with 
the  gasp  that  marks  the  spent  runner. 

Holding  Agatha  Redmond  in  front  of  him,  with 
her  head  well  above  the  water  and  her  body  partly 
supported  by  the  life  preserver,  he  swam  sometimes 
with  one  hand,  sometimes  only  with  his  legs.  He 
dared  not  stop  now,  lest  he  be  too  late  in  reaching 
land  or  wholly  unable  to  regather  his  force.  The 
dizziness  increased,  and  a  sharp  pain  in  his  eyeballs 
recurred  again  and  again.  He  could  no  longer  see 
the  land;  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  blood,  not 
brine,  that  spurted  from  nose  and  mouth;  but  still 
he  swam  on,  holding  the  woman  safe.  He  made  a 
gigantic  effort  to  shout,  though  he  could  scarcely 
hear  his  own  voice.  Then  he  fixed  his  mind  solely 
on  his  swimming,  counting  one  stroke  after  another, 
like  a  man  who  is  coaxing  sleep. 

How  long  he  swam  thus,  he  did  not  know;  but 
after  many  strokes  he  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of 
happiness  that,  after  all,  it  wasn't  necessary  to  reach 
land  or  to  struggle  any  more.  Rest  and  respite 
from  excruciating  effort  were  to  be  had  for  the  tak 
ing — why  had  he  withstood  them  so  long?  The  sea 
rocked  him,  the  surge  filled  his  ears,  his  limbs  re 
laxed  their  tension.  Then  it  was  that  a  strong  hand 


128  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

grasped  him,  and  a  second  later  the  same  hand  dealt 
him  a  violent  blow  on  the  face. 

He  had  to  begin  the  intolerable  exertion  of  swim- 
ing  again,  but  he  no  longer  had  a  burden  to  hold 
safe;  there  was  no  burden  in  sight.  Half-con- 
sciously  he  felt  the  earth  once  more  beneath  his  feet, 
but  he  could  not  stand.  He  fell  face  forward  into 
the  water  again  at  his  first  attempt;  and  again  the 
strong  hand  pulled  him  up  and  half -carried  him  over 
some  slimy  rocks.  It  was  an  endless  journey  before 
the  strong  hand  would  let  him  sit  or  lie  down,  but 
at  last  he  was  allowed  to  drop. 

He  vaguely  felt  the  warmth  of  the  sun  drying  his 
skin  while  the  sea  hummed  in  his  ears;  he  felt  dis 
tinctly  the  sharp  pain  between  his  eyes,  and  a  parch 
ing  thirst.  He  groped  around  in  a  delirious  search 
for  water,  which  he  did  not  find ;  he  pressed  his  head 
and  limbs  against  the  earth  in  an  exquisite  relief 
from  pain;  and  at  last  his  bruised  feet,  his  aching 
bones  and  head  constrained  him  to  a  lethargy  that 
ended  in  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  CAMP  ON  THE  BEACH 

O  UNSET  of  the  day  that  had  dawned  so  strangely 
and  wonderfully  for  those  two  wayfarers  of 
earth,  James  and  Agatha,  fell  on  a  little  camp  near 
the  spit  of  coast-land  toward  which  they  had  strug 
gled.  The  point  lifted  itself  abruptly  into  a  rocky 
bank  which  curved  in  and  out,  yielding  to  the  be 
sieging  waves.  Just  here  had  been  formed  a  little 
sandy  cove  partly  protected  by  the  beetling  cliff.  At 
the  top  was  verdure  in  abundance.  Vines  hung 
down  over  the  face  of  the  wall,  coarse  grasses  and 
underbrush  grew  to  its  very  edge,  and  sharp-pointed 
fir  trees  etched  themselves  against  the  clear  blue  of 
the  sky.  Below,  the  white  sand  formed  a  sickle- 
shaped  beach,  bordered  by  the  rocky  wall,  with  its 
sharp  point  dipping  far  out  to  sea.  High  up  on  the 
sand  a  small  rowboat  was  beached.  There  was  no 
path  visible  up  from  the  shingle,  but  it  was  evident 
that  the  ascent  would  be  easy  enough. 

129 


130  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Nevertheless,  the  campers  did  not  attempt  it.  In 
stead,  they  had  made  a  fire  of  driftwood  on  the  sand 
out  of  reach  of  the  highest  tide.  Near  the  fire  they 
had  spread  fir  boughs,  and  on  this  fragrant  couch 
James  was  lying.  He  was  all  unconscious,  appar 
ently,  of  the  primitive  nature  of  his  surroundings, 
the  sweetness  of  his  balsam  bed,  and  the  watchful 
care  of  his  two  nurses. 

Jim  was  in  a  bad  way,  if  one  could  trust  the  re 
marks  of  his  male  nurse,  who  spoke  to  an  invisible 
companion  as  he  gathered  chips  and  other  bits  of 
wood  from  the  beach.  He  was  a  young,  businesslike 
fellow  with  a  clean,  wholesome  face,  dressed  only  in 
gauze  shirt,  trousers,  and  boots  without  stockings; 
this  lack,  of  course,  was  not  immediately  apparent. 
The  tide  had  just  turned  after  the  ebb,  and  he  went 
far  down  over  the  wet  sand,  sometimes  climbing 
over  the  rocks  farther  along  the  shore  until  he  was 
out  of  sight  of  the  camp. 

Returning  from  one  of  these  excursions,  which 
had  been  a  bit  longer  than  he  intended,  he  looked 
anxiously  toward  the  fire  before  depositing  his  arm 
ful  of  driftwood.  The  blaze  had  died  down,  but  a 
good  bed  of  coals  remained ;  and  upon  this  the  young 
man  expertly  built  up  a  new  fire.  It  crackled  and 


THE    CAMP    ON   THE   BEACH      131 

blazed  into  life,  throwing  a  ruddy  glow  over  the 
shingle,  the  rocks  behind,  and  the  figure  lying  on 
the  balsam  couch.  James's  face  was  waxen  in  its 
paleness,  save  for  two  fiery  spots  on  his  cheeks ;  and 
as  he  lay  he  stirred  constantly  in  a  feverish  unrest. 
His  bare  feet  were  nearest  the  fire ;  his  blue  woollen 
trousers  and  shirt  were  only  partly  visible,  being 
somewhat  covered  by  a  man's  tweed  coat. 

The  fire  lighted  up,  also,  the  figure  of  Agatha 
Redmond.  She  was  kneeling  at  the  farther  end  of 
Jim's  couch,  laying  a  white  cloth,  which  had  been 
wet,  over  his  temples.  Her  long  dark  hair  was 
hanging  just  as  it  had  dried,  except  that  it  was  tied 
together  low  in  the  back  with  a  string  of  slippery 
seaweed.  Her  neck  was  bare,  her  feet  also;  her 
loose  blouse  had  lost  all  semblance  of  a  made-to- 
order  garment,  but  it  still  covered  her ;  while  a  petti 
coat  that  had  once  been  black  satin  hung  in  stiff, 
salt-dried  creases  from  her  waist  to  a  little  below 
her  knees.  She  had  the  well-set  head  and  good 
shoulders,  with  deep  chest,  which  make  any  garb 
becoming;  her  face  was  bonny,  even  now,  clouded 
as  it  was  with  anxiety  and  fatigue.  She  greeted  the 
young  man  eagerly  on  his  return. 

"If  you  could  only  find  a  little  more  fresh  water, 


I32  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

I  am  sure  it  would  help.  The  milk  was  good,  only 
he  would  take  so  little.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  let 
you  go  this  evening  to  hunt  for  the  farm-house/' 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  the  young  man  replied.  He 
had  wanted  to  go  earlier  in  the  day,  but  the  man  was 
too  ill  and  the  woman  too  exhausted  to  be  left  alone. 
He  went  on  speaking  slowly,  after  a  pause.  "I  can 
find  the  farm-house,  I  am  sure,  only  it  may  take  a 
little  time.  Following  the  cattle  would  have  been 
the  quickest  way;  but  I  can  find  the  cowpath  soon, 
even  as  it  is.  If  you  wouldn't  be  uneasy  with  me 
gone,  Mademoiselle!" 

"Oh,  no,  we  shall  be  all  right  now,  till  you  can 
get  back!"  As  she  spoke,  Agatha's  eyes  rested 
questioningly  on  the  youth  who,  ever  since  she  had 
revived  from  her  faint  of  exhaustion,  had  teased 
her  memory.  He  had  seen  them  struggling  in  the 
sea,  and  had  swum  out  to  her  aid,  she  knew;  and 
after  leaving  her  lying  on  a  slimy,  seaweed-covered 
rock,  he  had  gone  out  again  and  brought  in  her  com 
panion  in  a  far  worse  condition  than  herself.  The 
young  man,  also,  was  a  survivor  of  the  Jeanne 
D'Arc,  having  come  from  the  disabled  craft  in  the 
tiny  rowboat  that  was  now  on  the  beach.  More 
than  this  she  did  not  know,  yet  something  jogged 


THE   CAMP   ON   THE   BEACH      133 

her  memory  every  now  and  then — something  that 
would  not  shape  itself  definitely.  Indeed,  she  had 
been  too  much  engrossed  in  the  serious  condition  of 
her  companion  and  the  work  necessary  to  make  the 
camp,  to  spend  any  thought  on  unimportant  specula 
tions. 

But  now,  as  she  listened  to  the  youth's  respect 
ful  tones,  it  suddenly  came  back  to  her.  She  looked 
at  him  with  awe-struck  eyes. 

"Oh,  now  I  know!  You  are  the  new  chauffeur; 
'queer  name,  Hand!'  Yes,  I  remember — I  remem 
ber." 

"What  you  say  is  true,  Mademoiselle." 

He  stood  before  her,  a  stubbornly  submissive  look 
on  his  face,  as  a  servant  might  stand  before  his  be 
trayed  master.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  waiting  for 
that  moment,  waiting  for  her  anger  to  fall  on  him. 
But  Agatha  was  speechless  at  her  growing  wonder 
at  the  trick  fate  had  played  them.  Her  steady 
gaze,  serious  and  earnest  now,  without  a  hint  of  the 
laughter  that  usually  came  so  easily,  dwelt  on  the 
young  man's  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  she  turned 
away  as  if  she  were  giving  up  a  puzzling  question. 
She  looked  at  James,  whose  stubbly-bearded  face 
was  now  quiet  against  its  green  pillow,  as  if  seeking 


134  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

a  solution  there ;  but  she  had  to  fall  back,  at  last,  on 
the  youth. 

"Do  you  know  who  this  man  is  ?"  she  asked  irrele 
vantly. 

"No,  Mademoiselle.  He  was  picked  up  in  New 
York  harbor,  the  night  we  weighed  anchor.  I  have 
not  seen  him  since  until  to-day." 

"  The  night  we  weighed  anchor !'  What  night 
was  that?" 

"Last  Monday,  Mademoiselle;  at  about  six  bells." 

"And  what  day  is  to-day?" 

"Saturday,   Mademoiselle;   and   past   four  bells 


now." 


"Monday — Saturday!"  Agatha  looked  abstract 
edly  down  on  Jimmy  asleep,  while  upon  her  mind 
crowded  the  memories  of  that  week.  This  man  who 
had  dragged  her  and  her  rescuer  from  the  water, 
who  had  made  fire  and  a  bed  for  them,  who  had  got 
milk  for  their  sustenance,  had  been  almost  the  last 
person  her  conscious  eyes  had  seen  in  that  half -hour 
of  terror  on  the  hillside.  Her  next  memory,  after 
an  untold  interval,  was  the  rocking  of  the  ship,  an 
old  woman  who  treated  her  obsequiously,  a  man 
who  was  her  servile  attendant  and  yet  her  jailer — but 
then,  suddenly,  as  she  knelt  there,  mind  and  body  re- 


THE    CAMP    ON   THE    BEACH      135 

fused  their  service.  She  crumpled  down  on  the  soft 
sand,  burying  her  head  in  her  arms. 

Hand  came  nearer  and  bent  awkwardly  over  her, 
as  if  to  coax  her  confidence. 

"It's  all  right  now,  Mademoiselle.  Whatever  you 
think  of  me,  you  can  trust  me  to  do  my  best  for  you 


now." 


"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you  now,"  Agatha  moaned 
in  a  muffled  voice.  "Only  I'm  so  puzzled  by  it  all — 
and  so  tired !" 

"  Twas  a  fearful  strain,  Mademoiselle.  But  I 
can  make  you  a  bed  here,  so  you  can  sleep." 

Agatha  shook  her  head.  "I  can  sleep  on  the  sand, 
just  as  well." 

"I  think,  Mademoiselle,  I'd  better  be  going  above 
and  look  for  help  from  the  village,  as  soon  as  I've 
supplied  the  fire.  I'll  leave  these  few  matches,  too, 
in  case  you  need  them." 

"Yes,  you'd  better  go,  Hand ;  and  wait  a  minute, 
until  I  think  it  out."  Agatha  sat  up  and  pressed  her 
palm  to  her  forehead,  straining  to  put  her  mind  upon 
the  problem  at  hand.  "Go  for  a  doctor  first,  Hand ; 
then,  if  you  can,  get  some  food — bread  and  meat; 
and,  for  pity's  sake,  a  cloak  or  long  coat  of  some 
kind.  Then  find  out  where  we  are,  what  the  nearest 


136  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

town  is,  and  if  a  telegraph  station  is  near.  And 
stay ;  have  you  any  money  ?" 

"A  little,  Mademoiselle ;  between  nine  and  ten  dol 
lars." 

"That  is  good;  it  will  serve  for  a  little  while. 
Please  spend  it  for  me ;  I  will  pay  you.  As  soon  as 
we  can  get  to  a  telegraph  station  I  can  get  more. 
Get  the  things,  as  I  have  said ;  and  then  arrange,  if 
you  can,  for  a  carriage  and  another  man,  besides 
yourself  and  the  doctor,  to  come  down  as  near  this 
point  as  possible.  You  two  can  carry  him" — she 
looked  wistfully  at  James — "to  the  carriage,  wher 
ever  it  is  able  to  meet  us.  But  you  will  need  to  spend 
money  to  get  all  these  things;  especially  if  you  get 
them  to-night,  as  I  hope  you  may." 

"I  will  try,  Mademoiselle."  The  ex-chauffeur 
stood  hesitating,  however.  At  last,  "I  hate  to  leave 
you  here  alone,  with  only  a  sick  man,  and  night  com 
ing  on,"  he  said. 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  for  me,"  replied  Agatha 
coldly.  Her  nerves  had  given  way,  now  that  the 
need  for  active  exertion  was  past,  and  were  almost 
at  the  breaking  point.  It  came  back  to  her  again, 
moreover,  how  this  man  and  another  had  made  her 
a  prisoner  in  the  motor-car,  and  at  the  moment  she 


THE   CAMP   ON   THE   BEACH      137 

felt  foolish  in  trusting  to  him  for  further  help.  It 
came  into  her  mind  that  he  was  only  seeking  an  ex 
cuse  to  run  away,  in  fear  of  being  arrested  later.  A 
second  time  she  looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  her 
serious,  questioning  gaze. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  were  in  the  plot  to  do  as 
you  did — last  Monday  afternoon,"  she  said  slowly; 
"but  whatever  it  was,  it  was  unworthy  of  you.  You 
are  not  by  nature  a  criminal  and  a  stealer  of  women, 
I  know.  And  you  have  been  kind  and  brave  to-day ; 
I  shall  never  forget  that.  Do  you  really  mean  now 
to  stay  by  me  ?" 

Hand's  gaze  was  no  less  earnest  than  her  own; 
and  though  he  flinched  at  "criminal,"  his  eyes  met 
hers  steadily. 

"As  long  as  I  can  help  you,  Mademoiselle,  I  will 
do  so." 

At  his  words,  spoken  with  sincerity,  Agatha's 
spirit,  tired  and  overwrought  as  it  was,  rose  for  an 
instant  to  its  old-time  buoyancy.  She  smiled  at  him. 

"You  mean  it?"  she  asked.  "Honest  true,  cross 
your  heart?" 

Hand's  businesslike  features  relaxed  a  little. 
"Honest  true,  cross  my  heart!"  he  repeated. 

"All    right,"    said    Agatha,    almost    cheerfully. 


138  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"And  now  you  must  go,  before  it  gets  any  darker. 
Don't  try  to  return  in  the  night,  at  the  risk  of  losing 
your  way.  But  come  as  soon  as  you  can  after  day 
light  ;  and  remember,  I  trust  to  you !  Good-by." 

Hand  already,  earlier  in  the  day,  had  made  a  path 
for  himself  up  the  steep  bank  through  the  under 
brush,  and  now  Agatha  went  with  him  to  the  edge 
of  the  thicket.  She  watched  and  listened  until  the 
faint  rustling  of  his  footsteps  ceased,  then  turned 
back  to  the  camp  on  the  beach.  She  went  to  the  fire 
and  stirred  up  its  coals  once  more  before  returning 
to  James.  He  was  sleeping,  but  his  flushed  face  and 
unnatural  breathing  were  signs  of  ill.  Now  and 
then  he  moved  restlessly,  or  seemed  to  try  to  speak, 
but  no  coherent  words  came.  She  sat  down  to  watch 
by  him. 

After  Agatha  and  James  had  been  brought  ashore 
by  the  capable  Mr.  Hand,  it  had  needed  only  time  to 
bring  Agatha  back  to  consciousness.  Both  she  and 
James  had  practically  fainted  from  exhaustion,  and 
James  had  been  nearly  drowned,  at  the  last  minute. 
Agatha  had  been  left  on  the  rocks  to  come  to  her 
self  as  she  would,  while  Hand  had  rubbed  and 
pummeled  and  shaken  James  until  the  blood  flowed 
again.  It  had  flowed  too  freely,  indeed,  at  some 


THE   CAMP    ON   THE   BEACH      139 

time  during  his  ordeal;  and  tiny  trickles  of  blood 
showed  on  his  lips.  Agatha,  dazed  and  aching,  was 
trying  to  crawl  up  to  the  sand  when  Hand  came 
back  to  her,  running  lightly  over  the  slippery  rocks. 
They  had  come  in  on  the  flowing  tide,  which  had 
aided  them  greatly;  and  now  Hand  helped  her  the 
short  distance  to  the  cove  and  mercifully  let  her  lie, 
while  he  went  back  to  his  work  for  James. 

Later  he  had  got  a  little  bucket,  used  for  bailing 
out  the  rowboat,  and  dashed  hurriedly  into  the 
thicket  above  after  some  tinkling  cowbells.  Though 
she  was  too  tired  to  question  him,  Agatha  supposed 
he  had  tied  one  of  the  cows  to  a  tree,  since  he  re 
turned  three  or  four  times  to  fill  the  pail.  What  a 
wonderful  life-giver  the  milk  was!  She  had  drunk 
her  fill  and  had  tried  to  feed  it  to  James,  who  at 
first  tasted  eagerly,  but  had,  on  the  whole,  taken  very 
little.  He  was  only  partly  awake,  but  he  shivered 
and  weakly  murmured  that  he  was  cold.  Agatha 
quickly  grew  stronger;  and  she  and  Hand  set  to 
work  to  prepare  the  fire  and  the  bed.  Almost  while 
they  were  at  this  labor,  the  sun  had  gone  down. 

Sitting  by  Jim's  couch,  Agatha  grew  sleepy  and 
cold,  but  there  were  no  more  coverings.  Hand's  coat 
was  over  Jim,  and  as  Agatha  herself  felt  the  cold 


140  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

more  keenly  she  tucked  it  closer  about  him.  Alone 
as  she  was  now,  in  solitude  with  this  man  who  had 
saved  her  from  the  waters,  with  darkness  and  the 
night  again  coming  on,  her  spirit  shrank;  not  so 
much  from  fear,  as  from  that  premonition  of  the 
future  which  now  and  then  assails  the  human  heart. 
As  she  knelt  by  Jim's  side,  covering  his  feet  with 
the  coat  and  heaping  the  fir  boughs  over  him,  she 
paused  to  look  at  his  unconscious  face.  She  knew 
now  that  he  did  not  belong  to  the  crew  of  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc;  but  of  his  outward  circumstances  she 
knew  nothing  more.  Thirty  she  guessed  him  to  be, 
thereby  coming  within  four  years  of  the  truth.  His 
short  mustache  concealed  his  mouth,  and  his  eyes 
were  closed.  It  was  almost  like  looking  at  the  mask 
of  a  face.  The  rough  beard  of  a  week's  growth 
made  a  deep  shadow  over  the  lower  part  of  his  face ; 
and  yet,  behind  the  mask,  she  thought  she  could  see 
some  token  of  the  real  man,  not  without  his  at 
tributes  of  divinity.  In  the  ordeal  of  the  night  be 
fore  he  had  shown  the  highest  order  of  patience, 
endurance  and  courage,  together  with  a  sweetness  of 
temper  that  was  itself  lovable.  But  beyond  this, 
what  sort  of  man  was  he?  Agatha  could  not  tell. 
She  had  seen  many  men  of  many  types,  and  perhaps 


THE   CAMP    ON   THE    BEACH      141 

she  recognized  James  as  belonging  to  a  type;  but 
if  so,  it  was  the  type  that  stands  for  the  best  of  New 
England  stock.  In  the  centuries  back  it  may  have 
brought  forth  fanatics  and  extremists;  at  times  it 
may  have  built  up  its  narrow  walls  of  prejudice  and 
pride ;  but  at  the  core  it  was  sound  and  manly,  and 
responsive  to  the  call  of  the  spirit. 

Something  of  all  this  passed  through  Agatha's 
mind,  as  she  tried  to  read  Jim's  face;  then,  as  he 
stirred  uneasily  and  tried  to  throw  off  the  light 
boughs  that  she  had  spread  over  him,  she  got  up 
and  went  to  the  edge  of  the  water  to  moisten  afresh 
the  bandage  for  his  forehead.  Involuntarily  she 
shuddered  at  sight  of  the  dark  water,  though  the 
lapping  waves,  pushing  up  farther  and  farther  with 
the  incoming  tide,  were  gentle  enough  to  soothe  a 
child. 

She  hurried  back  to  Jim's  couch  and  laid  the  cool 
ing  compress  across  his  forehead.  The  balsam 
boughs  about  them  breathed  their  fragrance  on  the 
night  air,  and  the  pleasant  gloom  rested  their  tired 
eyes.  Gradually  he  quieted  down  again ;  his  restless 
ness  ceased.  The  long  twilight  deepened  into  dark 
ness,  or  rather  into  that  thin  luminous  blue  shade 
which  is  the  darkness  of  starlit  summer  nights.  The 


142  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

sea  washed  the  beach  with  its  murmuring  caress; 
somewhere  in  the  thicket  above  a  night-bird  called. 

In  a  cranny  of  the  rocks  Agatha  hollowed  out  the 
sand,  still  warm  beneath  the  surface  here  where  the 
sun  had  lain  on  it  through  long  summer  days,  and 
made  for  herself  a  bed  and  coverlet  and  pillow  all  at 
once.  With  the  sand  piled  around  and  over  her,  she 
could  not  really  suffer;  and  she  was  mortally  tired. 

She  looked  up  toward  the  clear  stars,  Vega  and 
the  jeweled  cross  almost  in  the  zenith,  and  ruddy 
Antares  in  the  body  of  the  shining  Scorpion.  They 
were  watching  her,  she  thought,  to-night  in  her 
peace  as  they  had  watched  her  last  night  in  her 
struggle,  and  as  they  would  watch  after  all  her 
days  and  nights  were  done.  And  then  she  thought 
no  more.  Sleep,  blessed  gift,  descended  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    HEART   OF   YOUTH 

"A  GATHA  REDMOND,  can  you  hear  me?" 
**     She  caught  the  voice  faintly,  as  if  it  were  a 
child's  cry. 

"I'm  right  here,  yes;  only  wait  just  a  second." 
She  could  not  instantly  free  herself  from  her  sandy 
coverings,  but  she  was  wide  awake  almost  at  the 
first  words  James  had  spoken.  Faint  as  the  voice 
had  been,  she  recognized  the  natural  tones,  the 
strongest  he  had  uttered  since  coming  out  of  the 
water. 

The  night  had  grown  cold  and  dark,  and  at  first 
she  was  a  trifle  bewildered.  She  was  also  stiff  and 
sore,  almost  beyond  bearing.  She  had  to  creep  along 
the  sand  to  where  Jim  lay.  The  fire  had  burned 
wholly  out,  and  the  sand  felt  damp  as  she  crawled 
over  it.  When  she  came  near,  she  reached  out  her 
hand  and  laid  it  on  Jim's  forehead.  He  was  shiver 
ing  with  cold. 

143 


144  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"You  poor  man!  And  I  sleeping  while  I  ought 
to  be  taking  care  of  you!  I'll  make  the  fire  and  get 
some  milk;  there  is  still  a  little  left." 

As  she  tried  to  make  her  aching  bones  lift  her  to 
her  feet,  she  became  aware  that  the  man  was  fum 
bling  at  his  coverings  and  trying  to  say  something. 
She  bent  down  to  hear  his  words,  which  were  in 
credibly  faint. 

"I  don't  want  any  fire  or  any  milk.  I  only  wanted 
to  know  if  you  were  there,"  he  said  diffidently,  as  if 
ashamed  of  his  childishness. 

She  leaned  over  him,  speaking  gently  and  toucl> 
ing  his  head  softly  with  her  firm,  cool  hands. 

"You're  a  little  better  now,  aren't  you,  after  your 
sleep  ?  Don't  you  feel  a  little  stronger  ?" 

"Yes,  I'm  better,  lots  better,"  he  whispered.  "I 
must  have  been  sleeping  for  ages.  When  I  woke  up 
I  thought  I  had  a  beastly  chill  or  something;  but 
I'm  all  right  now ;  only  suddenly  I  felt  as  if  I  must 
know  if  you  were  there,  and  if  it  was  you." 

He  smiled  at  his  own  words,  and  Agatha  was  re 
assured. 

"I  think  you'll  be  still  better  for  a  little  milk," 
she  said,  and  crept  away  to  get  the  pail,  which  had 
been  hidden  on  a  shelf  of  rock.  When  she  came  back 


THE    HEART    OF   YOUTH  145 

with  it,  James  tried  manfully  to  sit  up ;  but  Agatha 
slipped  an  arm  under  his  neck,  in  skilful  nurse 
fashion,  and  held  the  bucket  while  he  drank,  almost 
greedily.  As  he  sank  back  on  his  bed  he  whispered : 
"You  are  very  good  to  take  care  of  me." 

"Oh,  no ;  I'm  only  too  glad !  And  now  I'm  going 
to  build  up  the  fire  again ;  your  hands  are  quite  cold." 

"No,  don't  go,"  he  pleaded.  "Please  stay  here; 
I'm  not  cold  any  more.  And  you  must  go  to  sleep 
again.  I  ought  not  to  have  wakened  you ;  and,  really, 
I  didn't  mean  to." 

"Yes,  you  ought.  I've  had  lots  of  sleep;  I  don't 
want  any  more." 

"It's  dark,  but  it's  better  than  it  was  that  other 
night,  isn't  it?"  said  James. 

"Much  better,"  answered  Agatha. 

James  visibly  gathered  strength  from  the  milk, 
and  presently  he  took  some  more.  Agatha  watched, 
and  when  he  had  finished,  patted  him  approvingly 
on  the  hand.  "Good  boy !  You've  done  very  well," 
she  cried. 

"I  was  so  tfiirsty,  I  thought  the  whole  earth  had 
run  dry.  Will  you  think  me  very  ungrateful  if  I 
say  now  I  wish  it  had  been  water?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  wish  so,  too.    But  Mr.  Hand  could 


146  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

only  get  us  a  little  bit  from  a  spring,  for  there  isn't 
any  other  pail." 

It  was  some  time  before  Jim  made  out  to  inquire, 
"Who's  Mr.  Hand  ?" 

"He's  the  man  that  helped  us — out  of  the  water — 
when  we  became  exhausted." 

Agatha  hesitated  to  speak  of  the  night's  experi 
ence,  uncertain  how  far  Jim's  memory  carried  him, 
and  not  knowing  how  a  sick  man,  in  his  weakness, 
might  be  affected.  Still,  now  that  he  seemed  almost 
himself  again,  save  for  the  chill,  she  ventured  to 
refer  to  the  event,  speaking  in  a  matter-of-fact  way, 
as  if  such  endurance  tests  were  the  most  natural 
events  in  the  world.  James'  speech  was  quite  co 
herent  and  distinct,  but  very  slow,  as  if  the  effort  to 
speak  came  from  the  depths  of  a  profound  fatigue. 

"Hand — that's  a  good  name  for  him.  I  thought 
it  was  the  hand  of  God,  which  plucked  me,  like 
David,  or  Jonah,  or  some  such  person,  out  of  the 
seething  billows.  But  I  didn't  think  of  there  being  a 
man  behind."  Then,  after  a  long  silence,  "Where 
is  he?" 

"He's  gone  off  to  find  somebody  to  help  us  get 
away  from  here :  a  carriage  or  wagon  of  some  sort, 
and  some  food  and  clothes." 


THE    HEART    OF   YOUTH          147 

Something  caused  Jim  to  ejaculate,  though  quite 
feebly,  "You  poor  thing!"  And  then  he  asked,  very 
slowly,  "Where  is  'here'?" 

"I  don't  know ;  and  Mr.  Hand  doesn't  know." 

"And  we've  lost  our  tags,"  laughed  Jim  faintly. 

Agatha  couldn't  resist  the  laugh,  though  the  weak 
ness  in  Jim's  voice  was  almost  enough  to  make  her 
weep  as  well. 

"Yes,  we've  lost  our  tags,  more's  the  pity.  Mr. 
Hand  thinks  we're  either  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  ot 
on  an  island  somewhere  near  the  coast.  I  myself 
think  it  must  at  least  be  Nova  Scotia,  or  possibly 
Newfoundland.  But  Hand  will  find  out  and  be  back 
soon,  and  then  we'll  get  away  from  here  and  go  to 
some  place  where  we'll  all  be  comfortable." 

Agatha  stole  away,  and  with  much  difficulty  suc 
ceeded  in  kindling  the  fire  again.  She  tended  it  until 
a  good  steady  heat  spread  over  the  rocks,  and  then 
returned  to  James.  She  curled  up,  half  sitting,  half 
lying,  against  the  rocks. 

Clouds  had  risen  during  the  recent  hours,  and  it 
was  much  darker  than  the  night  before  had  been. 
The  ocean,  washing  its  million  pebbles  up  on  the  lit 
tle  beach,  moaned  and  complained  incessantly.  In 
the  long  intervals  between  their  talk,  Agatha's  head 


i48  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

would  fall,  her  eyes  would  close,  and  she  would  al 
most  sleep;  but  an  undercurrent  of  anxiety  concern 
ing  her  companion  kept  her  always  at  the  edge  of 
consciousness.  James  himself  appeared  to  have  no 
desire  to  sleep.  He  was  trying  to  piece  together,  in 
his  mind,  his  conscious  and  unconscious  memories. 
At  last  he  said : 

"I  guess  I  haven't  been  much  good — for  a  while — 
have  I?" 

Agatha  considered  before  replying.  "You  were 
quite  exhausted,  I  think;  and  we  feared  you  might 
be  ill." 

"And  Handy  Andy  got  my  job?"  She  laughed 
outright  at  this,  as  much  for  the  feeling  of  reassur 
ance  it  gave  her  as  for  the  jest  itself. 

"Handy  Andy  certainly  had  a  job,  with  us  two  on 
his  hands !"  she  laughed. 

"I  bet  he  did !"  cried  James,  with  more  vigor  than 
he  had  shown  before.  "He's  a  great  man;  I'm  for 
him !  When's  he  coming  back  ?" 

"Early  in  the  morning,  I  hope,"  said  Agatha, 
swallowing  her  misgivings. 

"That's  good,"  said  James.  "I  think  I'll  be  about 
and  good  for  something  myself  by  that  time." 

There  was  another  long  pause,  so  long  that  Ag- 


THE   HEART   OF   YOUTH          149 

atha  thought  James  must  have  gone  to  sleep  again. 
He  thought  likewise  of  her,  it  appeared;  for  when 
he  next  spoke  it  was  in  a  careful  whisper : 

"Are  you  still  awake,  Agatha  Redmond?" 

"Yes,  indeed ;  quite.    Do  you  want  anything?" 

"Yes,  a  number  of  things.  First,  are  you  quite 
recovered  from  the  trouble — that  night's  awful  trou 
ble  ?"  He  seemed  to  be  wholly  lost  as  to  time.  "Did 
you  come  off  without  any  serious  injury?  Do  you 
look  like  yourself,  strong  and  rosy-cheeked  again?" 

Agatha  replied  heartily  to  this,  and  her  answer 
appeared  to  satisfy  James  for  the  moment. 
"Though,"  she  added,  "here  in  the  dark,  who  can  tell 
whether  I  have  rosy  cheeks  or  not?" 

"True!"  sighed  James,  but  his  sigh  was  not  an 
unhappy  one.  Presently  he  began  once  more:  "I 
want  to  know,  too,  if  you  weren't  surprised  that  I 
knew  your  name  ?" 

"Well,  yes,  a  little,  when  I  had  time  to  think  about 
it.  How  did  you  know  it?" 

James  laughed.  "I  meant  to  keep  it  a  secret,  al 
ways;  but  I  guess  I'll  tell,  after  all — just  you.  I  got 
it  from  the  program,  that  Sunday,  you  know." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  understand."  She  didn't  quite  under 
stand,  at  first ;  for  there  had  been  other  Sundays  and 


150  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

other  songs.  But  she  could  not  weary  him  now  with 
questions. 

As  they  lay  there  the  slow,  monotonous  susurrus 
of  the?  sea  made  a  deep  accompaniment  to  their 
words.  It  was  near,  and  yet  immeasurably  far,  fill 
ing  the  universe  with  its  soft  but  insistent  sound  and 
echoes  of  sound.  At  the  back  of  her  mind,  Agatha 
heard  it  always,  low,  threatening,  and  strong;  but 
on  the  surface  of  her  thoughts,  she  was  trying  to  de 
cide  what  she  ought  to  do.  She  was  thinking  whether 
she  might  question  her  companion  a  little  concerning 
himself,  when  he  answered  her,  in  part,  of  his  own 
accord. 

"You  couldn't  know  who  I  am,  of  course :  James 
Hambleton,  of  Lynn.  Jim,  Jimmy,  Jimsy,  Bud — < 
I'm  called  most  anything.  But  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
— in  fact,  that's  what  I  waked  up  expressly  for — I 
wanted  to  tell  you — " 

He  paused  so  long,  that  Agatha  leaned  over,  try 
ing  to  see  his  face.  The  violence  of  the  chill  had 
passed.  His  eyes  were  wide  open,  his  face  alarm 
ingly  pale.  She  felt  a  sudden  qualm  of  pain,  lest  ill 
ness  and  exhaustion  had  wrought  havoc  in  his  frame 
deeper  than  she  knew.  But  as  she  bent  over  him, 
his  features  lighted  up  with  his  rare  smile — an  ex- 


THE   HEART    OF   YOUTH          151 

pression  full  of  happiness  and  peace.  He  lifted  a 
hand,  feebly,  and  she  took  it  in  both  her  own.  She 
felt  that  thus,  hand  in  hand,  they  were  nearer ;  that 
thus  she  could  better  be  of  help  to  him. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  he  began  again,  "that 
whatever  happens,  I'm  glad  I  did  it." 

"Did  what,  dear  friend?"  questioned  Agatha, 
thinking  in  her  heart  that  the  fever  had  set  his  wits 
to  wandering. 

"Glad  I  followed  the  Face  and  the  Voice,"  he  an 
swered  feebly.  Agatha  watched  him  closely,  torn 
with  anxiety.  She  couldn't  bear  to  see  him  suffer — 
this  man  who  had  so  suddenly  become  a  friend,  who 
had  been  so  brave  and  unselfish  for  her  sake,  who 
had  been  so  cheerful  throughout  their  night  of  trou 
ble. 

"I  told  old  Aleck,"  James  went  on,  "that  I'd  have 
to  jump  the  fence ;  but  that  was  ages  ago.  I've  been 
harnessed  down  so  long,  that  I  thought  I'd  gone  to 
sleep,  sure  enough."  Agatha  thought  certainly  that 
now  he  was  delirious,  but  she  had  no  heart  to  stop 
his  gentle  earnestness.  He  went  on:  "But  you 
woke  me  up.  And  I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  last 
run,  not  for  anything.  'Twas  a  great  night,  that 
night  on  the  water,  with  you ;  and  whatever  happens, 


152  [THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

I  shall  always  think  that  worth  living  for;  yes,  well 
worth  living  for." 

James's  voice  died  away  into  incoherence  and  at 
last  into  silence.  Agatha,  holding  his  hands  in  hers, 
watched  him  as  he  sank  away  from  her  into  some 
realm  whither  she  could  not  follow.  Either  his  hour 
of  sanity  and  calmness  had  passed,  and  fever  had 
taken  hold  upon  his  system;  or  fatigue,  mental  and 
physical,  had  overpowered  him  once  more.  Pres 
ently  she  dropped  his  hand  gently,  looked  to  the  cov 
erings  of  his  couch,  and  settled  herself  down  again 
to  rest. 

But  no  more  sleep  came  to  her  eyes  that  night. 
She  thought  over  all  that  James  had  said,  remem 
bering  his  words  vividly.  Then  her  thoughts  went 
back  over  the  years,  recalling  she  knew  not  what  ir 
relevant  matters  from  the  past.  Perhaps  by  some 
underlying  law  of  association,  there  came  to  her 
mind,  also,  the  words  of  the  song  she  had  sung  on 
the  Sunday  which  James  had  referred  to — 

"Free  of  my  pain,  free  of  my  burden  of  sorrow, 
At  last  I  shall  see  thee — " 

What  ages  it  was  since  she  had  sung  that  song! 
And  this  man,  this  James  Hambleton,  it  appeared, 


THE    HEART    OF    YOUTH  153 

had  heard  her  sing  it ;  and  somehow,  by  fate,  he  had 
been  tossed  into  the  same  adventure  with  herself. 

Unconsciously,  Agatha's  generous  heart  began  to 
swell  with  pride  in  James's  strength  and  courage, 
with  gratitude  for  his  goodness  to  her,  and  with  an 
almost  motherly  pity  for  his  present  plight.  She 
would  admit  no  more  than  that;  but  that,  she 
thought,  bound  her  to  him  by  ties  that  would  never 
break.  He  would  always  be  different  to  her,  by  rea 
son  of  that  night  and  what  she  chose  to  term  his 
splendid  heroism.  She  had  seen  him  in  his  hour  of 
strength,  that  hour  when  the  overman  makes  half- 
gods  out  of  mortals.  It  was  the  heart  of  youth, 
plus  the  endurance  of  the  man,  that  had  saved  them 
both.  It  had  been  a  call  to  action,  dauntlessly  an 
swered,  and  he  himself  had  avowed  that  the  strug 
gle,  the  effort,  even  the  final  pain,  were  "worth  liv 
ing  for!"  Thinking  of  his  white  face  and  feeble 
voice,  she  prayed  that  the  high  gods  might  not  re 
gard  them  worth  dying  for. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  HOME  PORT 

r  I  "HE  darkness  of  the  night  slowly  lifted,  reveal - 
-*•  ing  only  a  gray,  leaden  sky.  There  was  no 
dawn  such  as  had  gladdened  their  hearts  the  morn 
ing  before,  no  fresh  awakening  of  the  day.  Instead, 
the  coldness  and  gloom  of  the  night  seemed  but  to 
creep  a  little  farther  away,  leaving  its  shadow  over 
the  world.  A  drizzling  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the 
wanderers  on  the  beach  were  destined  to  a  new 
draft  of  misery.  Only  Agatha  watched,  however; 
James  gave  no  sign  of  caring,  or  even  of  knowing, 
whether  the  sun  shone  or  hid  its  face. 

He  had  slept  fitfully  since  their  hour  of  wakeful- 
ness  together  in  the  night,  and  several  times  he  had 
shown  signs  of  extreme  restlessness.  At  these 
periods  he  would  talk  incoherently,  Agatha  being 
able  to  catch  only  a  word  now  and  then.  Once  he 
endeavored  to  get  up,  bent,  apparently,  upon  per 
forming  some  fancied  duty  far  away.  Agatha 

154 


THE   HOME   PORT  155 

soothed  him,  talked  to  him  as  a  mother  talks  to  a 
sick  child,  cajoled  and  commanded  him;  and  though 
he  was  restless  and  voluble,  yet  he  obeyed  her  read 
ily  enough. 

As  the  rain  began  to  descend,  Agatha  bethought 
herself  earnestly  as  to  what  could  be  done.  She  first 
persuaded  James  to  drink  a  little  more  of  the  milk, 
and  afterward  took  what  was  left  herself — less  than 
half  a  cupful.  Then  she  set  the  bucket  out  to  catch 
the  rain.  She  felt  keenly  the  need  of  food  and 
water;  and  now  that  there  was  no  one  to  heed  her 
movements,  she  found  it  difficult  to  keep  up  the 
show  of  courage.  She  still  trusted  in  Hand;  but 
even  at  best  he  might  yet  be  several  hours  in  return 
ing  ;  and  cold  and  hunger  can  reduce  even  the  stout 
est  heart.  If  Hand  did  not  return — but  there  was 
no  answer  to  that  if.  She  believed  he  would  come. 

The  soft  rain  cast  a  pall  over  the  ocean,  so  that 
only  a  small  patch  of  sea  was  visible;  and  it  flat 
tened  the  waves  until  the  blue-flashing,  white-capped 
sea  of  yesterday  was  now  a  smooth,  gray  surface, 
touched  here  and  there  by  a  bit  of  frothy  scum. 
Agatha  looked  out  through  the  deep  curtain  of  mist, 
remembering  the  night,  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  and  her 
recent  peril.  Most  vividly  of  all  she  heard  in  her 


156  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

memory  a  voice  shouting,  "Keep  up!  I'm  coming, 
I'm  coming!"  Ah,  what  a  welcome  coming  that 
had  been !  Was  he  to  die,  now,  here  on  her  hands, 
after  the  worst  of  their  struggle  was  over?  She 
turned  quickly  back  to  James,  vowing  in  her  heart 
it  should  not  be;  she  would  save  him  if  it  lay  in 
human  power  to  save. 

Her  hardest  task  was  to  move  their  camp  up  into 
the  edge  of  the  brushwood,  where  they  might  have 
the  shelter  of  the  trees.  There  was  a  place,  near  the 
handle  of  the  sickle,  where  the  rock-wall  partly  dis 
appeared,  and  the  undergrowth  from  the  cliff 
reached  almost  to  the  beach.  It  was  from  here  that 
Hand  had  begun  his  ascent ;  and  here  Agatha  chose 
a  place  under  a  clump  of  bayberry,  where  she  could 
make  another  bed  for  James.  The  ground  there  was 
still  comparatively  dry. 

She  coaxed  James  to  his  feet  and  helped  him,  with 
some  difficulty,  up  to  the  more  sheltered  spot.  He 
was  stronger,  physically,  now  in  his  delirium  than 
he  had  been  during  his  period  of  sanity  in  the 
night.  She  made  him  sit  down  while  she  ran  back 
to  gather  an  armful  of  the  fir  boughs  to  spread  out 
for  his  bed;  but  she  had  scarcely  started  back  for 
the  old  camp  before  James  got  to  his  feet  and  stag- 


THE   HOME   PORT  157 

gered  after  her.  She  met  him  just  as  she  was 
returning,  and  had  to  drop  her  load,  take  her  patient 
by  the  arm,  and  guide  him  back  to  the  new  shelter. 
He  went  peacefully  enough,  but  leaned  on  her  more 
and  more  heavily,  until  at  last  his  knees  weakened 
under  him  and  he  fell.  Agatha's  heart  smote  her. 

They  were  near  the  bayberry  bush,  though  en 
tirely  out  from  its  protection.  As  the  drizzling  rain 
settled  down  thicker  and  thicker  about  them,  Agatha 
tried  again.  Slowly  she  coaxed  James  to  his  knees, 
and  slowly  she  helped  him  creep,  as  she  had  crept 
toward  him  in  the  night,  along  between  the  stones 
and  up  into  the  sheltered  corner  under  the  bayberry. 
It  was  only  a  little  better  than  the  open,  and  it  had 
taken  such  prodigies  of  strength  to  get  there ! 

Agatha  made  a  pillow  for  James's,  head  and  sat 
by  him,  looking  earnestly  at  his  flushed  face;  and 
from  her  heart  she  sighed,  "Ah,  dear  man,  it  was 
too  hard !  It  was  too  hard !" 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  wait  for  help,  though 
help  of  a  most  efficient  kind  was  on  the  way.  Agatha 
had  been  looking  and  listening  toward  the  upper 
wood,  whither  Hand  had  disappeared.  She  had 
even  called,  from  time  to  time,  on  the  chance  that 
she  could  help  to  guide  the  assisting  party  back  to 


I58  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

the  cove.  At  last,  as  she  listened  for  a  reply  to  her 
call,  she  heard  another  sound  that  set  her  wonder 
ing;  it  was  the  p-p-peter-peter  of  a  motor-boat.  She 
looked  out  over  the  small  expanse  of  ocean  that  was 
visible  to  her,  but  could  see  nothing.  Nevertheless 
the  boat  was  approaching,  as  its  puffing  proclaimed. 
It  grew  more  and  more  distinct,  and  presently  a 
strong  voice  shouted  "Ahoy !  Are  you  there?" 

Three  times  the  shout  came.  Agatha  made  a 
trumpet  of  her  hands  and  answered  with  a  call  on 
two  notes,  clear  and  strong.  "All  right!"  came 
back ;  and  then,  "Call  again !  We  can't  find  you !" 
And  so  she  called  again  and  again,  though  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes  and  a  lump  in  her  throat  for 
very  relief  and  joy.  When  her  eyes  cleared,  she 
saw  the  boat,  and  watched  while  it  anchored  well 
off  the  rocks ;  then  two  men  put  ashore  in  a  rowboat. 

"And  where  are  our  patients?"  came  a  deep, 
steady  voice  from  the  rocks. 

"This  way,  sir.  I  think  mademoiselle  has  moved 
the  camp  up  under  the  trees,"  was  the  reply,  unmis 
takably  the  voice  of  Mr.  Hand. 

And  there  they  found  Agatha,  kneeling  by  James 
and  trying  to  coax  him  to  his  feet.  "Quick,  they 
have  come !  You  will  be  cared  for  now,  you  will  be 


THE    HOME    PORT  159 

well  again!"  she  was  saying.  She  saw  Hand  ap 
proach  and  heard  him  say:  "This  way,  Doctor 
Thayer.  The  gentleman  is  up  here  under  the  trees," 
and  then,  for  the  first  time  in  all  the  long  ordeal, 
Agatha's  nerves  broke  and  her  throat  filled  with 
sobs.  As  the  ex-chauffeur  came  near,  she  reached  a 
hand  up  to  him,  while  with  the  other  she  covered  her 
weeping  eyes  in  shame. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!  I'm  so  glad 
you've  come!"  she  tried  to  say,  but  it  was  only  a 
whisper  through  her  sobs. 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  gone  so  long,"  said  Hand,  touch 
ing  her  timidly  on  the  shoulder. 

"Tell  the  doctor  to  take  care  of  him,"  she  begged 
in  the  faintest  of  voices ;  and  then  she  crept  away, 
thinking  to  hide  her  nerves  until  she  should  come  to 
herself  again.  But  Hand  followed  her  to  the  niche 
in  the  rocks  where  she  fled,  covered  her  with  some 
thing  big  and  warm,  and  before  she  knew  it  he  had 
made  her  drink  a  cup  that  was  comforting  and  good. 
Then  he  gave  her  food  in  little  bits  from  a  basket, 
and  sweet  water  out  of  a  bottle.  Agatha's  soul  re 
vived  within  her,  and  her  heart  became  brave  again, 
though  she  still  felt  as  if  she  could  never  move  from 
her  hard,  damp  resting-place  among  the  rocks. 


160  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"You  stay  there,  please,  Mademoiselle,"  adjured 
Mr.  Hand.  "When  we  get  the  boat  ready,  I'll  come 
for  you."  Then,  standing  by  her  in  his  submissive 
way,  he  added  a  thought  of  his  own:  "It's  very- 
hard,  Mademoiselle,  to  see  you  cry !" 

"I'm  not  crying,"  shrieked  Agatha,  though  her 
voice  was  muffled  in  her  arms. 

"Very  well,  Mademoiselle,"  acquiesced  the  polite 
Hand,  and  departed. 

Two  men  could  not  have  been  found  who  were  bet 
ter  fitted  for  managing  a  relief  expedition  than  Hand 
and  Doctor  Thayer.  Agatha  found  herself,  after 
an  unknown  period  of  time,  sitting  safe  under  the 
canvas  awning  of  the  launch,  protected  by  a  gener 
ous  cloak,  comforted  with  food  and  stimulant,  and 
relieved  of  the  pressing  anxiety  that  had  filled  the 
last  hours  in  the  cove. 

She  had,  in  the  end,  been  quite  unable  to  help ;  but 
the  immediate  need  for  her  help  was  past.  Doctor 
Thayer,  coming  with  his  satchel  of  medicines,  had 
at  first  given  his  whole  attention  to  James,  examin 
ing  him  quickly  and  skilfully  as  he  lay  where  Aga 
tha  had  left  him.  Later  he  came  to  Agatha  with  a 
few  questions,  which  she  answered  clearly;  but 
James,  left  alone,  immediately  showed  such  a  ten- 


THE   HOME    PORT  161 

dency  to  wander  around,  following  the  hallucina 
tions  of  his  brain,  that  the  doctor  decided  that  he 
must  have  a  sedative  before  he  could  be  taken  away. 
The  needle,  that  friend  of  man  in  pain,  was  brought 
into  use;  and  presently  they  were  able  to  leave  the 
cove.  Doctor  Thayer  and  Mr.  Hand  carried  James 
to  the  rowboat,  and  the  engineer,  who  had  stayed 
in  the  launch,  helped  them  lift  him  into  the  larger 
boat.  "No  more  walking  at  present  for  this  man !" 
said  the  doctor. 

They  were  puffing  briskly  over  the  water,  with 
the  tiny  rowboat  from  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  and  the 
boat  belonging  to  the  launch  cutting  a  long  broken 
furrow  behind  them.  Mr.  Hand  was  minding  the 
engine,  while  the  engineer  and  owner  of  the  launch, 
Little  Simon — so-called  probably  because  he  was  big 
1 — stood  forward,  handling  the  wheel.  Jim  was 
lying  on  some  blankets  and  oilskins  on  the  floor  of 
the  boat,  the  doctor  sitting  beside  him  on  a  cracker- 
box.  Agatha,  feeling  useless  and  powerless  to  help, 
sat  on  the  narrow,  uncomfortable  seat  at  the  side, 
watching  the  movements  of  the  doctor.  She  was 
unable  to  tell  whether  doubt  or  hope  prevailed  in  his 
rugged  countenance. 

At  last  she  ventured  her  question ;  but  before  re- 


162  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

plying  Doctor  Thayer  looked  up  at  her  keenly,  as  if 
to  judge  how  much  of  the  truth  she  would  be  able  to 
bear. 

"The  hemorrhage  was  caused  by  the  strain,"  he 
said  at  last,  slowly.  "It  is  bad  enough,  with  this 
fever.  If  his  constitution  is  sound,  he  may  pull 
through." 

Not  very  encouraging,  but  Agatha  extracted  the 
best  from  it.  "Oh,  I'm  so  thankful !"  she  exclaimed. 
Doctor  Thayer  looked  at  her,  a  deep  interest  show 
ing  in  his  grim  old  face.  While  she  looked  at  James, 
he  studied  her,  as  if  some  unusual  characteristic 
claimed  his  attention,  but  he  made  no  comment. 

Doctor  Thayer  was  short  in  stature,  massively 
built,  with  the  head  and  trunk  of  some  ancient 
Vulcan.  His  heavy,  large  features  had  a  rugged 
nobility,  like  that  of  the  mountains.  His  face  was 
smooth-shaven,  ruddy-brown,  and  deeply  marked 
with  lines  of  care;  but  most  salient  of  all  his  fea 
tures  was  the  massively  molded  chin  and  jaw.  His 
lips,  too,  were  thick  and  full,  without  giving  the 
least  impression  of  grossness;  and  when  he  was 
thinking,  he  had  a  habit  of  thrusting  his  under  jaw 
slightly  forward,  which  made  him  look  much  fiercer 


THE   HOME   PORT  163 

than  he  ever  felt.  Thin  white  hair  covered  his  tem 
ples  and  grew  in  a  straggling  fringe  around  the  back 
of  his  head,  upon  which  he  wore  a  broad-brimmed 
soft  black  hat. 

Doctor  Thayer  would  have  been  noticeable,  a  man 
of  distinction,  anywhere ;  and  yet  here  he  was,  with 
his  worn  satchel  and  his  old-fashioned  clothes,  trav 
eling  year  after  year  over  the  country-side  to  the 
relief  of  farmers  and  fishermen.  He  knew  his 
science,  too.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  doubt 
whether  his  sphere  was  large  enough  for  him. 

"I  haven't  found  out  yet  where  we  are,  or  to  what 
place  we  are  going.  Will  you  tell  me,  sir?"  asked 
Agatha. 

"You  came  ashore  near  Ram's  Head,  one  of  the 
worst  reefs  on  the  coast  of  Maine ;  and  we're  head 
ing  now  for  Charlesport ;  that's  over  yonder,  beyond 
that  next  point,"  Doctor  Thayer  answered.  After 
a  moment  he  added:  "I  know  nothing  about  your 
misfortunes,  but  I  assume  that  you  capsized  in  some 
pesky  boat  or  other.  When  you  get  good  and  ready, 
you  can  tell  me  all  about  it.  In  the  meantime,  what 
is  your  name,  young  woman  ?" 

The  doctor  turned  his  searching  blue  eyes  toward 


164  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Agatha  again,  a  courteous  but  eager  inquiry  under 
neath  his  brusque  manner. 

"It  is  a  strange  story,  Doctor  Thayer,"  said 
Agatha  somewhat  reluctantly;  "but  some  time  you 
shall  hear  it.  I  must  tell  it  to  somebody,  for  I  need 
help.  My  name  is  Agatha  Redmond,  and  I  am 
from  New  York ;  and  this  gentleman  is  James  Ham- 
bleton  of  Lynn — so  he  told  me.  He  risked  his  life 
to  save  mine,  after  we  had  abandoned  the  ship." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  Doctor  Thayer  gruffly. 
"Some  blind  dash  into  the  future  is  the  privilege  of 
youth.  That's  why  it's  all  recklessness  and  foolish 


ness." 


Agatha  looked  at  him  keenly,  struck  by  some 
subtle  irony  in  his  voice.  "I  think  it  is  what  you 
yourself  would  have  done,  sir,"  she  said. 

The  doctor  thrust  out  his  chin  in  his  disconcerting 
way,  and  gave  not  the  least  smile ;  but  his  small  blue 
eyes  twinkled. 

"My  business  is  to  see  just  where  I'm  going  and  to 
know  exactly  what  I'm  doing,"  was  the  dry  answer. 
He  turned  a  watchful  look  toward  James,  lying  still 
there  between  them ;  then  he  knelt  down,  putting  an 
ear  over  the  patient's  heart. 

"All  right !"  he  assured  her  as  he  came  up.    "But 


THE   HOME    PORT  165 

we  never  know  how  those  organs  are  going  to  act." 
Satisfying  himself  further  in  regard  to  James,  he 
waited  some  time  before  he  addressed  Agatha 
again.  Then  he  said,  very  deliberately:  "The 
ocean  is  a  savage  enemy.  My  brother  Hercules 
used  to  quote  that  old  Greek  philosopher  who  said, 
'Praise  the  sea,  but  keep  on  land/  And  sometimes 
I  think  he  was  right/' 

Agatha's  tired  mind  had  been  trying  to  form 
some  plan  for  their  future  movements.  She  was 
uneasily  aware  that  she  would  soon  have  to  decide 
to  do  something;  and,  of  course,  she  ought  to  get 
back  to  New  York  as  soon  as  possible.  But  she 
could  not  leave  James  Hambleton,  her  friend  and 
rescuer,  nor  did  she  wish  to.  She  was  pondering 
the  question  as  the  doctor  spoke;  then  suddenly,  at 
his  words,  a  curtain  of  memory  snapped  up.  "My 
brother  Hercules"  and  "Charlesport !" 

She  leaned  forward,  looking  earnestly  into  the 
doctor's  face.  "Oh,  tell  me,"  she  cried  impulsively, 
"is  it  possible  that  you  knew  Hercules  Thayer? 
That  he  was  your  brother?  And  are  we  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Ilion  ?" 

"Yes — yes — yes,"  assented  the  doctor,  nodding  to 
each  of  her  questions  in  turn ;  "and  I  thought  it  was 


i66  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

you,  Agatha  Shaw's  girl,  from  the  first.  But  you 
should  have  come  down  by  land!"  he  dictated 
grimly. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  intend  to  come  down  at  all,"  cried 
Agatha;  "either  by  land  or  water!  At  least  not 
yet!" 

Doctor  Thayer's  jaw  shot  out  and  his  eyes  shone, 
but  not  with  humor  this  time.  He  looked  distinctly 
irritated.  "But  my  dear  Miss  Agatha  Redmond, 
where  did  you  intend  to  go?" 

Agatha  couldn't,  by  any  force  of  will,  keep  her 
voice  from  stammering,  as  she  answered :  "I  wasn't 
g-going  anywhere !  I  was  k-kidnapped !" 

Doctor  Thayer  looked  sternly  at  her,  then  reached 
toward  his  medicine  chest.  "My  dear  young  wom 
an — "  (Why  is  it  that  when  a  person  is  particularly 
out  of  temper,  he  is  constrained  to  say  My  Dear  So- 
and  So?)  "My  dear  young  woman,"  said  Doctor 
Thayer,  "that's  all  right,  but  you  must  take  a  few 
drops  of  this  solution.  And  let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

"Indeed,  Doctor,  it  is  all  so,  just  as  I  say,"  inter 
rupted  Agatha.  "I'm  not  feverish  or  out  of  my 
head,  not  the  least  bit.  I  can't  tell  you  the  whole 
story  now ;  I'm  too  tired — " 

"Yes,  that's  so,  my  dear  child !"  said  the  doctor, 


THE   HOME    PORT  167 

but  in  such  an  evident  tone  of  yielding  to  a  delirious 
person,  that  he  nearly  threw  her  into  a  fever  with 
anger.  But  on  the  whole,  Agatha  was  too  tired  to 
mind.  He  took  her  hand,  felt  of  her  pulse,  and 
slowly  shook  his  head;  but  what  he  had  to  say,  if 
he  had  anything,  was  necessarily  postponed.  The 
launch  was  putting  into  the  harbor  of  Charlesport. 

Even  on  the  dull  day  of  their  arrival,  Charles- 
port  was  a  pleasant  looking  place,  stretching  up  a 
steep  hill  beyond  the  ribbon  of  street  that  bordered 
its  harbor.  Fish-houses  and  small  docks  stood  out 
here  and  there,  and  one  larger  dock  marked  the  far 
thest  point  of  land.  A  great  derrick  stood  by  one 
wharf,  with  piles  of  granite  block  near  by. 

Little  Simon  was  calling  directions  back  to  Hand 
at  the  engine  as  they  chugged  past  fishing  smacks 
and  mooring  poles,  past  lobster-pot  buoys  and  a  lit 
tle  bug-lighthouse,  threading  their  way  into  the  har 
bor  and  up  to  the  dock.  Agatha  appealed  to  the 
doctor  with  great  earnestness. 

"Surely,  Doctor  Thayer,  it  is  a  Providence  that 
we  came  in  just  here,  where  people  will  know  me 
and  will  help  me.  I  need  shelter  for  a  little  while, 
and  care  for  my  sick  friend  here.  Where  can  we 
go?" 


1 68  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Doctor  Thayer  cast  a  judicial  eye  over  the  land 
scape,  while  he  held  his  hat  up  into  the  breeze.  "It's 
going  to  clear;  it'll  be  a  fine  afternoon,"  said  he. 
Then  deliberately :  "Why  don't  you  go  up  to  the  old 
red  house  ?  Sallie  Kingsbury's  there  keeping  it,  just 
as  she  did  when  Hercules  was  alive;  waiting  for 
you  or  the  lawyer  or  somebody  to  turn  her  out,  I 
guess.  And  it's  only  five  miles  by  the  good  road. 
You  couldn't  go  to  any  of  these  sailor  shacks  down 
here,  and  the  big  summer  hotel  over  yonder  isn't  any 
place  for  a  sick  man,  let  alone  a  lady  without  her 
trunk." 

Agatha  looked  in  amazement  at  the  doctor.  "Go 
to  the  old  red  house — to  stay  ?" 

"Why  not?  If  you're  Agatha  Redmond,  it's 
yours,  isn't  it?  And  I  guess  nobody's  going  to  dis 
pute  your  being  Agatha  Shaw's  daughter,  looking 
as  you  do.  The  house  is  big  enough  for  all  creation ; 
and,  besides,  they've  been  on  pins  and  needles  wait 
ing  for  you  to  come,  or  write,  or  do  something." 
The  doctor  gave  a  grim  chuckle.  "Hercules  sur 
prised  them  all  some,  by  his  will.  But  they'll  all  be 
glad  to  see  you,  I  guess,  unless  it  is  Sister  Susan. 
She  was  always  pretty  hard  on  Hercules;  and  she 


THE   HOME    PORT  169 

didn't  approve  of  the  will — thought  the  house  ought 
to  go  to  the  Foundling  Asylum." 

Agatha  looked  as  if  she  saw  the  gates  of  Eden 
opened  to  her.  "But  could  I  really  go  there  ?  Would 
it  be  all  right?  I've  not  even  seen  the  lawyer." 
There  was  no  need  of  answers  to  her  questions ;  she 
knew  already  that  the  old  red  house  would  receive 
her,  would  be  a  refuge  for  herself  and  for  James, 
who  needed  a  refuge  so  sorely. 

The  doctor  was  already  making  his  plans.  "I'll 
drive  this  man  here,"  indicating  James,  "and  he'll 
need  some  one  to  nurse  him  for  a  while,  too.  You 
can  go  up  in  one  of  Simon  Nash's  wagons ;  and  I'll 
get  a  nurse  up  there  as  soon  as  I  can." 

The  launch  had  tied  up  to  the  larger  dock,  and 
Hand  and  Little  Simon  had  been  waiting  some  min 
utes  while  Agatha  and  the  doctor  conferred  to 
gether.  Now,  as  Agatha  hesitated,  the  businesslike 
Hand  was  at  her  elbow.  "I  can  help  you,  Made 
moiselle,  if  you  will  let  me.  I  have  had  some 
experience  with  sick  men."  Agatha  looked  at  him 
with  grateful  eyes,  only  half  realizing  what  it  was 
he  was  offering.  The  doctor  did  not  wait,  but  im 
mediately  took  the  arrangement  for  granted.  He 


1 70  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

began  giving  orders  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  knows 
just  what  he  wants  done,  and  knows  also  that  he  will 
be  obeyed. 

"You  stay  here,  Mr.  Hand,  and  help  with  this 
gentleman;  and  Little  Simon,  here,  you  go  up  to 
your  father's  livery  stable  and  harness  up,  quick  as 
you  can.  Then  drive  up  to  my  place  and  get  the  boy 
to  bring  my  buggy  down  here,  with  the  white  horse. 
Quick,  you  understand?  Tell  them  the  doctor's  wait 
ing." 

Agatha  sat  in  the  launch  while  the  doctor's  orders 
were  carried  out.  Little  Simon  was  off  getting  the 
vehicles ;  Doctor  Thayer  had  run  up  the  dock  to  the 
village  street  on  some  errand,  saying  he  would  be 
back  by  the  time  the  carriages  were  there ;  and  Hand 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  dock,  keeping  a 
watchful  eye  on  the  launch.  James  was  lying  in 
the  sheltered  corner  of  the  boat,  ominously  quiet. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  and  his  face  had  grown 
ghastly  in  his  illness.  Tears  came  to  Agatha's  eyes 
as  she  looked  at  him,  seeing  how  much  worse  his 
condition  was  than  when  he  had  talked  with  her, 
almost  happily,  in  the  night.  She  herself  felt  miser 
ably  tired  and  ill;  and  as  she  waited,  she  had  the 
sensation  one  sometimes  has  in  waiting  for  a  train ; 


THE   HOME   PORT  171 

that  the  waiting  would  go  on  for  ever,  would  never 
end. 

The  weather  changed,  as  the  doctor  had  prophe 
sied,  and  the  rain  ceased.  Fresh  gusts  of  wind  from 
the  sea  blew  clouds  of  fog  and  mist  inland,  while  the 
surface  of  the  water  turned  from  gray  to  green, 
from  green  to  blue.  The  wind,  blowing  against  the 
receding  tide,  tossed  the  foam  back  toward  the  land 
in  fantastic  plumes.  Agatha,  looking  out  over  the 
sea,  which  now  began  to  sparkle  in  the  light,  longed 
in  her  heart  to  take  the  return  of  the  sunshine  as  an 
omen  of  good.  It  warmed  and  cheered  her,  body 
and  soul. 

As  her  eyes  turned  from  the  sea  to  the  village 
tossed  up  beyond  its  highest  tides,  she  searched, 
though  in  vain,  for  some  spot  which  she  could  iden 
tify  with  the  memories  of  her  childhood.  She  must 
have  seen  Charlesport  in  some  one  of  her  numerous 
visits  to  Ilion  as  a  child;  but  though  she  recalled 
vividly  many  of  her  early  experiences,  they  were  in 
no  way  suggestive  of  this  tiny  antiquarian  village,  or 
of  the  rocky  hillside  stretching  off  toward  the  hori 
zon.  A  narrow  road  wound  athwart  the  hill,  lead 
ing  into  the  country  beyond.  It  was  steep  and 
rugged,  and  finally  it  curved  over  the  distant  fields. 


:i;2  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

But  the  old  red  house  was  the  talisman  that 
brought  back  to  her  mind  the  familiar  picture.  She 
wondered  if  it  lay  over  the  hill  beyond  that  rugged 
road.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  saw  the  green  fields, 
the  mighty  balm-of-gilead  tree,  the  lilac  bushes,  and 
the  dull  red  walls  of  the  house  standing  back  from 
the  village  street,  not  far  from  the  white-steepled 
church.  She  could  see  it  all,  plainly.  The  thought 
came  to  her  suddenly  that  it  was  home.  It  was  the 
first  realization  she  had  of  old  Hercules  Thayer's 
kindness.  It  was  Home  for  her  who  had  else  been 
homeless.  She  hugged  the  thought  in  thankfulness. 

"Now,    Miss    Agatha    Redmond,    if    you    will 


come — " 


The  eternity  had  ended ;  and  time,  with  its  swift 
procession  of  hours  and  days,  had  begun  again. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SEEING  THE  RAINBOW 

A  FEW  days  on  a  yacht,  with  a  calm  sea  and  sun- 
^~^-  cool  weather,  may  be  something  like  a  century 
of  bliss  for  a  pair  of  lovers,  if  they  happen  to  have 
taken  the  lucky  hour.  The  conventions  of  yacht  life 
allow  a  companionship  from  dawn  till  dark,  if  they 
choose  to  have  it ;  there  is  a  limited  amount  of  out 
side  distraction;  if  the  girl  be  an  outdoor  lass,  she 
looks  all  the  sweeter  for  the  wind  rumpling  her  hair ; 
and  on  shipboard,  if  anywhere,  mental  resourceful 
ness  and  good  temper  achieve  their  full  reward. 

Aleck  had  been  more  crafty  than  he  knew  when 
he  carried  Melanie  and  Madame  Reynier  off  on  the 
Sea  Gull.  Almost  at  the  last  moment  Mr.  Cham 
berlain  had  joined  them,  Aleck's  liking  for  the  man 
and  his  instinct  of  hospitality  overcoming  his  desire 
for  something  as  near  as  possible  to  a  solitude  a 
deux  with  Melanie. 

They  could  not  have  had  a  better  companion.  Mr. 
173 


i74  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Chamberlain  was  nothing  less  than  perfect  in  his 
position  as  companion  and  guest.  He  enjoyed 
Madame  Reynier's  grand  duchess  manners,  and 
spared  himself  no  trouble  to  entertain  both  Madame 
Reynier  and  Melanie.  He  was  a  hearty  admirer,  if 
not  a  suitor,  of  the  younger  woman;  but  certain  it 
was,  that,  if  he  ever  had  entertained  personal  hopes 
in  regard  to  her,  he  buried  them  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart  by  the  end  of  their  first  day  on  the  Sea  Gull. 
He  understood  Aleck's  position  with  regard  to  Me 
lanie  without  being  told,  and  instantly  brought  all 
his  loyalty  and  courtesy  into  his  friend's  service. 

Madame  Reynier  had  an  interest  in  seeing  the 
smaller  towns  and  cities  of  America;  "something 
besides  the  show  places,"  she  said.  So  they  made 
visits  ashore  here  and  there,  though  not  many.  As 
they  grew  to  feel  more  at  home  on  the  yacht,  the 
more  reluctant  they  were  to  spend  their  time  on 
land.  Why  have  dust  and  noise  and  elbowing  peo 
ple,  when  they  might  be  cutting  through  the  blue 
waters  with  the  wind  fresh  in  their  faces?  The 
weather  was  perfect;  the  thrall  of  the  sea  was  upon 
them. 

The  roses  came  into  Melanie's  cheeks,  and  she 
forgot  all  about  the  professional  advice  which  she 


SEEING   THE   RAINBOW  175' 

had  been  at  such  pains  to  procure  in  New  York. 
There  was  happiness  in  her  eyes  when  she  looked  on 
her  lover,  even  though  she  had  repulsed  him.  As 
for  Mr.  Chamberlain,  he  breathed  the  very  air  of 
content.  Madame  Reynier,  with  her  inscrutable 
grand  manner,  confessed  that  she  had  never  before 
been  able  precisely  to  locate  Boston,  and  now  that 
she  had  seen  it,  she  felt  much  better.  Even  Aleck's 
lean  bulk  seemed  to  expand  and  flourish  in  the  at 
mosphere  of  happiness  about  him.  His  sudden  ven 
ture  was  a  success,  beyond  a  doubt.  The  party  had 
many  merry  hours,  many  others  full  of  a  quiet 
pleasure,  none  that  were  heavy  or  uneasy. 

If  Aleck's  outer  man  prospered  in  this  unexpected 
excursion,  it  can  only  be  said  that  his  spiritual  self 
flowered  with  a  new  and  hitherto  unknown  beauty. 
It  was  a  late  flowering,  possibly — though  what  are 
thirty- four  years  to  Infinity? — but  there  was  in  it 
a  richness  and  delicacy  which  was  its  own  distinc 
tion  and  won  its  own  reward. 

Melanie's  words,  spoken  in  their  long  interview 
in  the  New  York  home,  had  contained  an  element 
of  truth.  There  was  a  poignant  sincerity  in  her 
saying,  "You  do  not  love  me  enough,"  which 
touched  Aleck  to  the  center  of  his  being.  He  was 


176  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

not  niggardly  by  nature;  and  had  he  given  stint- 
ingly  of  his  affection  to  this  woman  who  was  to  him 
the  best?  His  whole  nature  shrank  from  such  a 
role,  even  while  he  dimly  perceived  that  he  had 
been  guilty  of  acting  it.  If  he  had  been  small  in 
his  gift  of  love,  it  was  because  he  had  been  the  dupe 
of  his  theories;  he  had  forsworn  gallantry  toward 
women,  and  had  unwittingly  cast  aside  warmth  of 
affection  also. 

But  such  a  condition  was,  after  all,  more  appar 
ent  than  real.  In  his  heart  Aleck  knew  that  he  did 
love  Melanie  "enough,"  however  much  that  might 
be.  He  loved  her  enough  to  want,  not  only  and  not 
mainly,  what  she  could  give  to  him;  but  he  wanted 
the  happiness  of  caring  for  her,  cherishing  her,  re 
warding  her  faith  with  his  own.  She  had  not  seen 
that,  and  it  was  his  problem  to  make  her  see  it. 
There  was  only  one  way.  And  so,  in  forgetting 
himself,  forgetting  his  wants,  his  comforts,  his 
studies  and  his  masculine  will — herein  was  the  blos 
soming  of  Aleck's  soul. 

Melanie  instinctively  felt  the  subtle  change,  and 
knew  in  her  heart  that  Aleck  had  won  the  day, 
though  she  still  treated  their  engagement  as  an  open 
question.  Aleck  would  read  to  her  in  his  simple, 


SEEING   THE   RAINBOW  177 

unaffected  manner,  sometimes  with  Madame  Rey- 
nier  and  Mr.  Chamberlain  also  for  audience,  some 
times  to  her  alone.  And  since  they  lived  keenly 
and  loved,  all  books  spoke  to  them  of  their  life  or 
their  love.  A  line,  a  phrase,  a  thought,  would  ring 
out  of  the  record,  and  each  would  be  glad  that  the 
other  had  heard  that  thought ;  sometime  they  would 
talk  it  all  over.  They  learned  to  laugh  at  their  own 
whimsical  prejudices,  and  then  insisted  on  them  all 
the  harder;  they  learned,  each  from  the  other,  some 
bit  of  robust  optimism,  some  happiness  of  vision, 
some  further  reach  of  thought. 

After  they  had  read,  they  would  play  at  quoits, 
struggling  sternly  against  each  other;  or  Chamber 
lain  would  examine  Melanie  in  nautical  lore;  or  to 
gether,  in  the  evening,  they  would  trace  the  constel 
lations  in  the  heavens.  During  their  first  week  they 
were  in  the  edge  of  a  storm  for  a  night  and  a  day; 
but  they  put  into  harbor  where  they  were  comfort 
able  and  safe,  and  merry  as  larks  through  it  all. 

So,  day  by  day,  Aleck  hedged  Melanie  about  with 
his  love.  Was  she  thoughtful?  He  let  her  take,  as 
she  would,  his  thoughts,  the  best  he  could  give  from 
his  mature  experience.  Was  she  gay?  He  liked 
that  even  better,  and  delighted  to  cap  her  gaiety 


178  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

with  his  own  queer,  whimsical  drolleries.  What 
ever  her  mood,  he  would  not  let  her  get  far  from 
him  in  spirit.  It  was  not  in  her  heart  to  keep  him 
from  her;  but  Aleck  achieved  the  supermundane 
feat  of  making  his  influence  felt  most  keenly  when 
she  was  alone.  She  dwelt  upon  him  in  her  thoughts 
more  intensely  than  she  herself  knew;  and  that  in- 
tenseness  was  only  the  reflection  of  his  own  thought 
for  her. 

They  had  been  sailing  a  little  more  than  a  week, 
changing  the  low,  placid  Connecticut  fields  for  the 
rougher  northern  shores,  going  sometimes  farther 
out  to  sea,  but  delighting  most  in  the  sweet,  pine- 
fringed  coast  of  Maine.  There  were  no  more  large 
cities  to  visit,  only  small  villages  where  fishermen 
gathered  after  their  week's  haul  or  where  slow, 
primitive  boat-building  was  still  carried  on.  Most 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  coast  country  appeared  to 
be  farmers  as  well  as  fishermen,  even  where  the  soil 
was  least  promising.  The  aspect  of  the  shores  was 
that  of  a  limited  but  fairly  prosperous  agricultural 
community.  Under  the  shadow  of  the  hills  were 
staid  little  homes,  or  fresh-painted  smart  cottages. 
Sometimes  a  bold  rock-bank  formed  the  shore  for 
miles  and  miles,  and  the  hills  would  vanish  for  a 


SEEING   THE   RAINBOW  179 

space.  Here  and  there  were  headlands  formed  by 
mighty  boulders,  against  which  the  waves  endlessly 
dashed  and  as  endlessly  foamed  back  into  the  sea. 

Such  a  headland  loomed  up  on  their  starboard 
one  evening  when  the  sun  was  low;  and  as  the 
plumes  of  spray  from  the  incoming  waves  rose  high 
in  the  air  a  rainbow  formed  itself  in  the  fleeting 
mist.  It  was  a  fairy  picture,  repeating  itself  two 
or  three  times,  no  more. 

"That's  my  symbol  of  hope,"  said  Aleck  quite 
impersonally,  to  anybody  who  chose  to  hear. 

Mr.  Chamberlain  turned  to  Aleck  with  his  ready 
courtesy.  "Not  the  only  one  you  have  received,  I 
hope,  on  this  charming  voyage." 

Madame  Reynier  was  ready  with  her  pleasant 
word.  "Aren't  we  all  symbols  for  you — if  not  of 
hope,  then  of  your  success  as  a  host?  We've  lost 
our  aches  and  our  pains,  our  nerves  and  our 
troubles;  all  gone  overboard  from  the  Sea  Gull" 

"You're  all  tremendously  good  to  me,  I  know 
that,"  said  Aleck,  his  slow  words  coming  with  great 
sincerity. 

Melanie  kept  silence,  but  she  remembered  the 
rainbow. 

The  headland  was  the  landward  end  of  a  small 


180  iTHE    STOLEN    SINGER 

island,  one  part  of  which  was  thickly  wooded.  A 
large  unused  house  stood  in  a  clearing,  evidently 
once  a  rather  pretentious  summer  residence,  though 
now  there  were  many  signs  of  delapidation.  The 
pier  on  the  beach  had  been  almost  entirely  beaten 
down  by  storms,  and  a  small,  flimsy  slip  had  taken 
its  place,  running  far  down  into  the  water.  A  thin 
line  of  smoke  rose  from  the  chimney  of  one  of  the 
outbuildings ;  and  while  they  looked  and  listened  the 
raucous  cry  of  a  peacock  came  to  them  over  the  still 
water.  Presently  Chamberlain  suggested : 

"I  feel  it  in  my  bones  that  there'll  be  lobsters 
over  there  to  be  had  for  the  asking.  I  heard  your 
man  say  he  wanted  lobsters,  Van ;  and  I  believe  I'll 
row  over  there  and  see.  I'm  feeling  uncommonly 
fit  and  need  some  exercise." 

"All  right,  I'll  go  too,"  said  Aleck. 

"I'll  bet  a  bouquet  that  I  beat  you  rowing  over — 
Miss  Reynier  to  furnish  the  bouquet !"  was  Cham 
berlain's  next  proposition.  "Do  you  agree  to  that, 
my  lady?" 

"And  pray,  where  should  I  get  a  bouquet?" 

"Oh,  the  next  time  we  get  on  land.  And  we 
won't  put  up  with  any  old  bouquet  of  juniper  bushes 
and  rocks,  either.  We  want  a  good,  old-fashioned 


SEEING   THE   RAINBOW  181 

round  bouquet  of  garden  posies,  with  mignonette 
round  the  edge  and  a  rose  in  the  middle;  a  sure- 
enough  token  of  esteem — that  kind  of  thing,  you 
know.  Is  it  a  bargain,  Miss  Reynier?" 

"Very  well,  it  is  ^a  bargain,"  agreed  Melanie; 
"but  I  shall  choose  bachelors'  buttons !" 

So  they  took  the  tender  and  got  off,  with  a  great 
show  of  exactness  as  to  time  and  strictness  of  rules. 
Madame  Reynier  was  to  hold  the  watch,  and  Aleck 
was  to  wave  a  white  handkerchief  the  minute  they 
touched  sand.  Mr.  Chamberlain  was  to  give  a  like 
signal  when  they  started  back.  The  yacht  slowed 
down  and  held  her  place  as  nearly  as  possible. 

Chamberlain  pulled  a  great  oar,  and  was,  in  fact, 
far  superior  to  Aleck  in  point  of  skill ;  but  his  stroke 
was  not  well  adapted  to  the  choppy  waves  inshore. 
He  had  learned  it  on  the  sleepy  Cam,  where  the  long, 
gliding  blade  counts  best.  The  men  stayed  ashore 
a  long  time,  disappearing  entirely  beyond  the  clump 
of  trees  that  screened  the  outbuildings.  When  they 
reappeared,  an  old  man  was  with  them,  following 
them  down  to  the  boat.  Then  the  white  handker 
chief  appeared,  and  the  boat  started  on  its  return. 

Aleck  profited  by  Chamberlain's  work,  and  made 
the  boat  leap  forward  by  a  shorter,  almost  jerky 


1 82  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

stroke.  He  came  back  easily  with  five  minutes  to 
spare. 

"Good  work !"  said  Mr.  Chamberlain.  "You  have 
me  beaten,  and  you'll  get  the  bachelors'  buttons; 
but  you  had  the  tide  with  you." 

"Nonsense!  I  had  the  lobsters  extra!"  asserted 
Aleck. 

"Well,  if  you  had  been  born  an  Englishman,  we'd 
make  an  oarsman  out  of  you  yet !" 

"Huh!"  said  Aleck. 

But  they  had  news  to  tell  the  ladies,  and  while 
they  were  having  their  dinner  their  thoughts  were 
turned  to  another  matter.  The  island,  it  appeared, 
had  for  some  years  been  abandoned  by  its  owner, 
and  its  only  inhabitant  was  a  gray  and  grizzly  old 
man,  known  to  the  region  as  the  hermit.  His  fancy 
was  to  keep  a  light  burning  always  by  night  in  the 
landward  window  of  his  cabin,  so  as  to  warn  sailors 
off  the  dangerous  headland.  There  was  no  light 
house  in  the  vicinity,  and  by  a  kindly  consent  the 
people  on  the  neighboring  islands  and  on  the  main 
land  opposite  encouraged  his  benevolent  delusion, 
if  delusion  it  might  be  called.  They  contrived  to 
send  him  provisions  at  least  once  a  week ;  and  they 
had  supplied  him  with  a  flag  which,  it  was  under- 


SEEING   THE   RAINBOW       •     183 

stood,  he  would  fly  in  case  he  was  in  actual  need. 
So,  alone  with  his  cow  and  his  fowls,  the  old  hermit 
spent  his  days,  winter  and  summer,  tending  his  lamp 
when  the  dark  came  on. 

Aleck  and  Mr.  Chamberlain  had  picked  up  some 
of  this  information  at  the  last  port  which  the  Sea 
Gull  made;  but  what  was  of  new  and  real  interest 
to  them  now  was  the  story  which  the  old  man  told 
them  of  a  castaway  on  the  island  a  few  days  before. 

"All  hands  had  abandoned  the  yacht  just  before 
she  went  down,  it  appears.  The  owner  was  robbed 
by  his  own  men  and  marooned  on  the  hermit's  island 
— that's  the  gist  of  it,"  said  Aleck. 

"The  hermit  said  the  man  wouldn't  eat  off  his 
table,"  went  on  Mr.  Chamberlain;  "but  asked  him 
for  raw  eggs  and  ate  them  outdoors.  Said  that  ex 
cept  when  he  asked  for  eggs  he  never  spoke  without 
cursing.  At  least,  the  hermit  couldn't  understand 
what  he  said,  so  he  thought  it  was  cursing.  And 
while  the  old  man  was  talking,"  added  Chamber 
lain  resentfully,  "that  blooming  peacock  squawked 
like  a  demon." 

"The  yacht  that  went  down,  according  to  the 
man,  was  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,"  said  Aleck,  who  had 
been  grave  enough  between  all  their  light-hearted 


1 84  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

talk.  "I  didn't  tell  you,  Chamberlain,  that  my 
cousin,  my  old  chum,  went  off  quite  unexpectedly  on 
a  boat  called  the  Jeanne  D'Arc.  Where  he  went  or 
what  for,  I  don't  know.  Of  course,  it  may  have 
been  another  Jeanne  D'Arc;  it  probably  was.  But 
it  troubles  me.'* 

Melanie  was  instantly  aroused.  "Oh,  I  had  an 
uncanny  feeling  when  you  first  mentioned  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc!"  she  cried.  "But  could  you  not  find 
out  more  ?  What  became  of  the  man  that  was  ma 
rooned  ?" 

"He  got  off  the  island  a  day  or  two  ago,"  said 
Aleck.  "The  people  that  brought  provisions  to  the 
old  man  took  him  to  the  mainland,  to  Charlesport." 

"The  beggar  left  without  so  much  as  thanking 
the  old  man  for  his  eggs,"  added  Chamberlain. 

"We'll  put  into  Charlesport  to-night,  if  you  don't 
mind,"  said  Aleck.  "If  I  can  find  the  man  that  was 
marooned,  I  may  be  able  to  learn  something  about 
Jim,  if  he  really  was  on  the  yacht.  You  can  all  go 
ashore,  if  you  like.  There's  a  big  summer  hotel 
near  by,  and  it's  a  lovely  country." 

"We'll  stay  wherever  it's  most  convenient  for 
you  to  have  us,"  said  Melanie,  looking  at  Aleck, 


SEEING   THE    RAINBOW  185 

for  once,  with  more  than  a  friendly  interest  in  her 
eyes. 

"And  perhaps  I  can  help  you,  Van;  two  heads, 
you  know,"  said  Chamberlain. 

Aleck,  troubled  as  he  was,  could  not  help  being 
grateful  to  his  friends.  So  the  Sea  Gull,  turned 
suddenly  from  her  holiday  mood,  headed  into  the 
harbor  of  Charlesport. 

The  village  still  rang,  if  so  staid  a  community 
could  be  said  to  ring,  with  reports  of  the  event  of 
the  week  before.  Doctor  Thayer  had  been  sphinx- 
like,  and  Little  Simon  had  been  imaginative  and 
voluble;  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say 
which  had  teased  the  popular  curiosity  the  more. 
Aleck  found  a  tale  ready  for  his  ears  about  the 
launch  and  its  three  passengers,  with  many  conflict 
ing  details.  Some  said  that  a  great  singer  had  been 
wrecked  off  Ram's  Head,  others  that  it  was  the 
captain  and  mate  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  others  that 
it  was  a  daughter  of  old  Parson  Thayer's  sweetheart 
and  two  sailors  that  came  ashore.  Little  or  noth 
ing  was  known  about  the  island  castaway.  Aleck 
followed  the  only  clue  he  could  find,  thinking  to 
get  at  least  some  inkling  of  the  truth. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

ALECK  SEES  A  GHOST 

T  ITTLE  Simon  drove  leisurely  up  the  long,  rug- 
•^•>ged  hill  over  which  Agatha  and  James  had  so 
recently  traveled,  and  drew  rein  in  the  shade  at  a 
distance  of  a  long  city  block  from  his  destination. 
He  pointed  with  his  whip  while  he  addressed  Aleck, 
his  sole  passenger. 

"Yonder's  the  old  red  house,  Mister.  The  par 
son,  he  hated  to  have  his  trees  gnawed,  and  Major 
here's  a  great  horse  for  gnawing  the  bark  offer 
trees.  So  I  never  go  no  nearer  the  house  than  this." 
"All  right,  Simon ;  you  wait  for  me  here." 
Aleck  walked  slowly  along  the  country  road,  en 
joying  the  fragrant  fields,  the  quiet  beauty  of  the 
place.  It  was  still  early  in  the  day,  for  he  had  lost 
no  time  in  following  the  clues  gathered  from  the 
village  as  to  the  survivors  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc. 
The  air  was  fresh  and  clean,  with  a  tang  of  the  dis 
tant  salt  marshes. 

1 86 


ALECK    SEES   A   GHOST  187 

A  long  row  of  hemlocks  and  Norway  spruce 
bordered  the  road,  and,  with  the  aid  of  a  stone  wall, 
shut  off  from  the  highway  a  prosperous-looking 
vegetable  garden.  Farther  along,  a  flower  garden 
glowed  in  the  fantastic  coloring  which  gardens 
acquire  when  planted  for  the  love  of  flowers  rather 
than  for  definite  artistic  effects.  Farther  still,  two 
lilac  bushes  stood  sentinel  on  either  side  of  a  gate 
way;  and  behind,  a  deep  green  lawn  lay  under  the 
light,  dappled  shade  of  tall  trees.  It  was  a  lawn 
that  spoke  of  many  years  of  care;  and  in  the  middle 
of  its  velvet  green,  under  the  branches  of  two  shel 
tering  elms,  stood  the  old  red  house.  It  looked 
comfortable  and  secure,  in  its  homely  simplicity; 
something  to  depend  on  in  the  otherwise  mutable 
scenes  of  life.  Aleck  felt  an  instantaneous  liking 
for  it,  and  was  glad  that  his  errand,  sad  as  it  might 
possibly  be,  had  yet  led  him  thither. 

Long  French  windows  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
house  opened  upon  the  piazza,  and  from  the  second 
story  ruffled  white  curtains  fluttered  to  the  breeze. 
As  the  shield-shaped  knocker  clanged  dully  to 
Aleck's  stroke,  a  large,  melancholy  hound  came 
slowly  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  approached 
the  visitor  with  tentative  wags  of  the  tail,  and  after 


1 88  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

sniffing  mildly,  lay  down  on  the  cool  grass.  It 
wasn't  a  house  to  be  hurried,  that  was  plain.  After 
a  wait  of  five  or  ten  minutes  Aleck  was  about  to 
knock  again,  when  a  face  appeared  at  one  of  the 
side-lights  of  the  door.  Presently  the  door  itself 
opened  a  few  inches,  and  elderly  spinsterhood, 
wrapped  in  severe  inquiry,  looked  out  at  him. 

"Can  I  see  the  lady,  or  either  of  the  gentlemen, 
who  recently  arrived  here  from  the  yacht,  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc?" 

Aleck's  voice  and  manner  were  friendly  enough 
to  disarm  suspicion  itself.  Sallie  Kingsbury  looked 
at  him  for  a  full  second. 

"Come  in." 

Aleck  followed  her  into  the  wide,  dim  hall,  and 
waited  while  she  pulled  down  the  shade  of  the  side 
light  which  she  had  lifted  for  observation.  Then 
she  opened  a  door  on  the  right  and  said : 

"Set  down  in  the  parlor  while  I  go  and  take  my 
salt  risin's  away  from  the  stove.  I  ain't  had  time 
to  call  my  soul  my  own  since  the  folks  came,  what 
with  callers  at  all  times  of  the  day." 

Sallie's  voice  was  not  as  inhospitable  as  her 
words.  She  was  mildly  hurt  and  grieved,  rather 
than  offended.  She  disappeared  and  presently  came 


ALECK    SEES    A   GHOST  189 

back  with  a  white  apron  on  in  place  of  the  colored 
gingham  she  had  worn  before;  but  it  is  doubtful  if 
Aleck  noticed  this  tribute  to  his  sex.  Sallie  looked 
withered  and  pinched,  but  more  by  nature  and  dis 
position  than  by  age.  She  stood  with  arms  akimbo 
near  the  center-table,  regarding  Aleck  with  inquisi- 
tiveness  not  unmixed  with  liking. 

"You  can  set  down,  sir/'  she  said  politely,  "bu£ 
I  don't  know  as  you  can  see  any  of  the  folks.  The 
man,  he's  up-stairs  sick,  clean  out  of  his  head;  and 
the  young  man,  he's  nursing  him.  Can't  leave  him 
alone  a  minute,  or  he'd  be  up  and  getting  out  the 
window,  frail  I  know." 

Aleck  listened  sympathetically.  "A  sad  case! 
And  what  is  the  name,  if  I  may  ask,  of  the  young 
man  who  is  so  ill  ?" 

"Lor',  I  don't  know,"  said  Sallie.  "The  new 
mistress,  her  name's  Redmond ;  some  kin  of  Parson 
Thayer's,  and  she's  got  this  house  and  a  lot  of 
money.  The  lawyer  was  here  yesterday  and  got 
the  will  all  fixed  up.  She's  a  singer,  too — one  of 
those  opery  singers  down  below,  she  is." 

Sallie  made  this  announcement  as  if  she  was  re 
lating  a  bewildering  blow  of  Providence  for  whicK 
she  herself  was  not  responsible.  Aleck,  who  began 


1 90  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

to  fear  that  he  might  be  the  recipient  of  more  con 
fidences  than  decorum  dictated,  hastily  proffered  his 
next  question. 

"Can  I  see  the  lady,  Miss  Redmond?  Or  is  it 
Mrs.  Redmond?" 

Sallie  gave  a  scornful,  injured  sniff. 

"Miss  Redmond,  sir,  though  she's  old  enough  to 
be  a  Mrs.  I  wouldn't  so  much  mind  her  coming  in 
here  and  using  the  parson's  china  that  I  always 
washed  with  my  own  hands  if  she  was  a  Mrs.  But 
what  can  she,  an  unmarried  woman  and  an  opery 
singer,  know  about  Parson  Thayer's  ways  and  keep 
ing  this  house  in  order,  when  I've  been  with  him 
going  on  seventeen  years  and  he  took  me  outer  the 
Home  when  I  was  no  more  than  a  child  ?" 

Aleck's  heart  would  have  been  stone  had  he  re 
sisted  this  all  but  passionate  plea. 

"You  have  been  faithfulness  itself,  I  am  sure. 
But  do  you  think  Miss  Redmond  would  see  me,  at 
least  for  a  few  minutes  ?" 

Sallie  recovered  her  dignity,  which  had  been  near 
a  collapse  in  tears,  and  assumed  her  official  tone. 
"I  don't  know  as  you  can,  and  I  don't  know  as  you 
can.  She's  sick,  too;  fell  overboard  somehow  or 
other,  offer  one  of  those  pesky  boats,  and  got  neu- 


ALECK    SEES    A   GHOST  191 

ralagy  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  But  I'll  go  and 
see  how  she's  feeling." 

"Stay,  wait  a  minute/'  said  Aleck,  seized  with  a 
new  thought.  "I'll  write  a  message  to  Miss  Redmond 
and  then  she'll  know  just  what  I  want.  If  you'll 
be  so  good  as  to  take  it  to  her?" 

"Why,  certainly,  of  course  I  will,"  said  Sallie 
Kingsbury.  "Only  you  needn't  take  all  that  trouble. 
I  can  tell  her  what  you  want  myself."  Sallie  was 
one  of  those  persons  who  regard  the  pen  as  the 
weapon  of  last  resort,  not  to  be  used  until  necessity 
compels.  But  Aleck  continued  writing  on  a  blank 
leaf  of  his  note-book.  The  message  was  this : 

"Can  you  give  me  any  information  concerning 
my  cousin,  James  Hambleton,  who  was  thought  to 
be  aboard  the  Jeanne  D'Arc?" 

He  tore  the  leaf  out,  extracted  a  card  from  his 
pocketbook,  and  handed  leaf  and  card  to  Sallie. 
"Will  you  please  give  those  to  Miss  Redmond?" 

Sallie  wiped  her  hands,  which  were  perfectly 
clean,  on  her  white  apron,  took  the  card  and  bit  of 
paper  and  departed,  sniffing  audibly.  When  she  re 
turned,  it  was  to  say,  with  a  slightly  more  inter 
ested  air,  that  Miss  Redmond  wished  to  see  him 
up-stairs.  She  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  wide  stair- 


1 92  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

way  and  pointed  to  a  corner  of  the  upper  floor. 
"She's  in  there — room  on  the  right!"  and  so  she 
stalked  off  to  the  kitchen. 

Aleck  Van  Camp  sought  the  region  indicated  by 
Sallie's  gaunt  finger  with  some  misgivings;  but  he 
was  presently  guided  further  by  a  clear  voice. 

"Come  in  this  way,  Mr.  Van  Camp,  if  you 
please!" 

The  voice  led  him  to  an  open  door,  before  which 
he  stood,  looking  into  a  large,  old-fashioned  bed 
room,  from  whose  windows  the  white  curtains  flut 
tered  in  the  breeze.  Miss  Redmond  was  propped 
up  with  pillows  on  a  horsehair-covered  lounge, 
which  stood  along  the  foot  of  a  monstrous  bed. 
She  was  clothed  in  some  sort  of  wool  wrapper,  and 
over  her  feet  was  thrown  a  faded  traveling  rug. 
By  her  side  stood  a  chair  on  which  were  writing 
materials,  Aleck's  note  and  card,  and  a  half-written 
letter.  Agatha  sat  up  as  she  greeted  Aleck. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Van  Camp.  Will  you 
come  in  ?  I  ask  your  pardon  for  not  coming  down 
stairs  to  see  you,  but  I  have  been  ill,  and  am  not 
strong  yet." 

She  was  about  to  motion  Aleck  to  a  chair,  but 
stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  speech,  arrested  by  his 


"It  does  make  one  feel  queer,  you  know." 


ALECK   SEES  'A  GHOST  193 

expression.  Aleck  stood  rooted  to  the  door-sill,  with 
a  look  of  surprise  on  his  face  which  amounted  to 
actual  amazement.  Thus  apparently  startled  out 
of  himself,  he  regarded  Agatha  earnestly. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  Agatha  repeated  at  last. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said  finally  in  his  precise  drawl, 
"but  I  confess  to  being  startled.  You — you  bear 
such  an  extraordinary  resemblance  to  some  one  I 
know,  that  I  thought  it  must  really  be  she,  for  a 
moment." 

Agatha  smiled  faintly.  "You  looked  as  if  you 
had  seen  a  ghost." 

Aleck  gazed  at  her  again,  a  long,  scrutinizing 
look.  "It  does  make  one  feel  queer,  you  know." 

"But  now  that  you  are  assured  that  I'm  not  a 
ghost,  will  you  sit  down?  That  chair  by  the  win 
dow,  please.  And  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you;  for  James  Hambleton,  your  cousin,  if  he 
is  your  cousin,  is  here  in  this  house,  and  he  is  ill — 
very  ill  indeed." 

Aleck's  nonchalance  had  already  disappeared,  in 
the  series  of  surprises;  but  at  Agatha's  words  a 
flush  of  pleasure  and  relief  overspread  his  face. 
He  strode  quickly  over  toward  Agatha's  couch. 

"Oh,  I  say — old  Jim — I  thought,  I  was  afraid — " 


194  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Agatha  was  touched  by  the  evidences  of  his  emo 
tion,  and  her  voice  became  very  gentle.  "I  fancy 
it  is  the  same — James  Hambleton  of  Lynn?"  Aleck 
nodded  and  she  went  on :  "That's  what  he  told  me, 
the  night  we  were  wrecked." 

Agatha  looked  at  Aleck,  as  if  she  would  discover 
whether  he  were  trustworthy  or  not,  before  giving 
him  more  of  her  story.  Presently  she  continued : 

"He's  a  very  brave,  a  very  wonderful  man.  He 
jumped  overboard  to  save  me,  after  I  fell  from  the 
ladder;  and  then  they  left  us  and  we  swam  ashore. 
But  long  before  we  got  there  I  fainted,  and  he 
brought  me  in,  all  the  way,  though  he  was  nearly 
dead  of  exhaustion  himself.  He  had  hemorrhage 
from  overexertion,  and  afterward  a  chill.  And  now 
there  is  fever." 

Agatha's  voice  was  trembling.  Aleck  watched 
her  as  she  told  her  tale,  the  flush  of  happiness  and 
joy  still  lighting  up  his  face.  As  she  finished  relat 
ing  the  meager  facts  which  to  her  denoted  so  many 
heart-throbs,  a  sob  drowned  her  voice.  As  Aleck 
followed  the  story,  his  own  eyes  wavered. 

"That's  Jim,  down  to  the  ground.  Good  old 
boy !"  he  said. 


ALECK   SEES   A   GHOST  195 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute,  then  he  heard 
Agatha's  voice,  grown  little  and  faint.  "If  he 
should  die— !" 

Aleck,  still  standing  by  Agatha's  couch,  suddenly 
shook  himself.  "Where  is  he?  Can  I  see  him 
now?" 

Agatha  got  up  slowly  and  led  the  way  down  the 
hall,  pointing  to  a  door  that  stood  ajar.  It  was 
•evident  that  she  was  weak. 

"I  can't  go  in — I  can't  bear  to  see  him  so  ill," 
she  whispered;  and  as  Aleck  looked  at  her  before 
entering  the  sick-room,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
rilled  with  tears. 

Agatha  went  back  to  her  couch,  feeling  that  the 
heavens  had  opened.  Here  was  a  friend  come  to 
her  from  she  knew  not  where,  whose  right  it  was 
to  assume  responsibility  for  the  sick  man.  He  was 
kind  and  good,  and  he  loved  her  rescuer  with  the 
boyish  devotion  of  their  school-days.  He  would 
surely  help;  he  would  work  with  her  to  keep  death 
away.  Whatever  love  and  professional  skill  could 
do,  should  be  done;  there  had  been  no  question  as 
to  that,  of  course,  from  the  beginning.  But  here 
was  some  one  who  would  double,  yes,  more  than 


196  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

double  her  own  efforts;  some  one  who  was  strong 
and  well  and  capable.  Her  heart  was  thankful. 

Before  Aleck  returned  from  the  sick-room,  Doc 
tor  Thayer's  step  sounded  on  the  stairs,  followed  by 
the  mildly  complaining  voice  of  Sallie  Kingsbury. 
Presently  the  two  men  were  in  a  low-voiced  confer 
ence  in  the  hall.  Agatha  waited  while  they  talked, 
feeling  grateful  afresh  that  Doctor  Thayer's  grim 
professional  wisdom  was  to  be  reinforced  by  Mr. 
Van  Camp's  resources.  When  the  doctor  entered 
Agatha's  room,  her  face  had  almost  the  natural 
flush  of  health. 

"Ah,  Miss  Agatha  Redmond" — the  doctor  con 
tinued  frequently  to  address  her  by  her  full  name, 
half  in  affectionate  deference  and  half  with  some 
dry  sense  of  humor  peculiar  to  himself — "Miss 
Agatha  Redmond,  so  you're  beginning  to  pick  up! 
A  good  thing,  too ;  for  I  don't  want  two  patients  in 
one  house  like  the  one  out  yonder.  He's  a  very 
sick  man,  Miss  Agatha." 

"I  know,  Doctor.  I  have  seen  him  grow  worse, 
hour  by  hour,  ever  since  we  came.  What  can  be 
done?" 

"He  needs  special  nursing  now,  and  your  man 
in  there  will  be  worn  out  presently." 


ALECK   SEES   'A   GHOST  197 

"Oh,  that  can  be  managed.  Send  to  Portland,  to 
Boston,  or  somewhere.  We  can  get  a  nurse  here 
soon.  Do  not  spare  any  trouble,  Doctor.  I  can 
arrange — " 

Doctor  Thayer  squared  himself  and  paced  slowly 
up  and  down  Agatha's  room.  He  did  not  reply  at 
once,  and  when  he  did,  it  was  with  one  of  his  char 
acteristic  turns  toward  an  apparently  irrelevant 
topic. 

"Have  you  seen  Sister  Susan  ?"  he  inquired,  stop 
ping  by  the  side  of  Agatha's  couch  and  looking 
down  on  her  with  his  shrewd  gaze.  It  was  a  need 
less  question,  for  he  knew  that  Agatha  had  not 
seen  Mrs.  Stoddard.  She  had  been  too  weak  and 
ill  to  see  anybody.  Agatha  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  Miss  Agatha  Redmond,  Susan's  the  nurse 
we  need  for  that  young  gentleman  over  there.  It's 
constant  care  he  must  have  now,  day  and  night; 
and  if  he  gets  well,  it  will  be  good  nursing  that  does 
it.  There  isn't  a  nurse  in  this  country  like  Susan, 
when  she  once  takes  hold  of  a  case.  That  Mr.  Hand 
in  there  is  all  right,  but  he  can't  sit  up  much  longer 
night  and  day,  as  he  has  been  doing.  And  he  isn't 
a  woman.  Don't  know  why  it  is,  but  the  Lord 
seems  bent  on  throwing  sick  men  into  women's 


198  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

hands — as  if  they  weren't  more  than  a  match  for  us 
when  we're  well !" 

Agatha's  humorous  smile  rewarded  the  doctor's 
grim  comments,  if  that  was  what  he  wanted. 

"No,  Doctor,"  she  said,  with  a  fleeting  touch  of 
her  old  lightness,  "we're  never  a  match  for  you. 
We  may  entertain  you  or  nurse  you  or  feed  you, 
or  possibly  once  in  a  century  or  two  inspire  you; 
but  we're  never  a  match  for  you." 

"For  which  Heaven  be  praised!"  ejaculated  the 
doctor  fervently. 

Agatha  watched  him  as  he  fumbled  nervously 
about  the  room  or  clasped  his  hands  behind  him 
under  his  long  coat-tails.  The  greenish-black  frock- 
coat  hung  untidily  upon  him,  and  his  white  fringe 
of  hair  was  anything  but  smooth.  She  perceived 
that  something  other  than  medical  problems 
troubled  him. 

"Would  your  sister — would  Mrs.  Stoddard — be 
willing  to  come  here  to  take  care  of  Mr.  Hamble- 
ton  ?"  she  ventured. 

"Ask  me  that"  snapped  the  doctor,  "when  no  man 
on  earth  could  tell  whether  she'll  come  or  not.  She 
says  she  won't.  She's  hurt  and  she's  outraged;  or 
at  least  she  thinks  she  is.  But  if  you  could  get  her 


ALECK    SEES   A    GHOST  199 

to  think  that  it  was  her  duty  to  take  care  of  that  poor 
boy  in  there,  she'd  come  fast  enough." 

Agatha  was  puzzled.  She  felt  as  if  there  were  a 
dozen  ways  to  turn  and  only  one  way  that  would 
lead  her  aright;  and  she  could  not  find  the  clue  to 
that  one  right  way.  At  last  she  attacked  the  doctor 
boldly. 

"Tell  me,  Doctor  Thayer,"  she  said  earnestly, 
"just  what  it  is  that  causes  Mrs.  Stoddard  to  feel 
hurt  and  outraged.  Is  it  simply  because  I  have  in 
herited  the  money  and  the  house  ?  She  can  not  pos 
sibly  know  anything  about  me  personally." 

The  old  doctor  thrust  his  under  jaw  out  more 
belligerently  than  ever,  while  turning  his  answer 
over  in  his  mind.  He  took  two  lengths  of  the  room 
before  stopping  again  by  Agatha's  side  and  looking 
down  on  her. 

"She  says  it  isn't  the  money,  but  that  it's  the 
slight  Hercules  put  upon  her  for  leaving  the  place, 
our  old  home,  out  of  the  family.  That's  one  thing; 
but  that  isn't  the  worst.  Susan's  orthodox,  you 
know,  very  orthodox;  and  she  has  a  prejudice 
against  your  profession — serving  Satan,  she  calls  it. 
She  thinks  that's  what  actresses  and  opera  singers 
do,  though  how  she  knows  anything  about  it,  I  don't 


200  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

see."  The  grim  smile  shone  in  the  doctor's  eyes 
even  while  he  looked,  half  anxiously,  to  see  how 
Agatha  was  taking  his  explanation  of  Mrs.  Stod- 
dard's  attitude.  Agatha  meditated  a  moment. 

"If  it's  merely  a  prejudice  in  the  abstract  against 
my  being  an  opera  singer,  I  think  she  will  overcome 
that.  Besides,  Mr.  Hambleton  is  neither  an  actor 
nor  an  opera  singer;  he  isn't  'serving  Satan/ ' 

"Well — "  the  doctor  hesitated,  and  then  went  on 
hastily  with  a  great  show  of  irritation,  "Susan's  a 
little  set  in  her  views.  She  disapproves  of  the  way 
you  came  here;  says  you  shouldn't  have  been  out 
in  a  boat  with  two  men,  and  that  it's  a  judgment 
for  sin,  your  being  drowned,  or  next  door  to  it. 
I'm  only  saying  this,  my  dear  Miss  Agatha,  to  ex 
plain  to  you  why  Susan — " 

But  Agatha  was  enlightened  at  last,  and  roused 
sufficiently  to  cause  two  red  spots,  brighter  than 
they  had  ever  been  in  health,  to  burn  on  her  cheeks. 
She  sat  up  very  straight,  facing  Doctor  Thayer's 
worried  gaze,  and  interrupted  him  in  tones  ringing 
with  anger. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Doctor  Thayer,  that 
your  sister,  the  sister  of  my  mother's  lifelong  friend, 
sits  in  her  house  and  imagines  scandalous  stories 


ALECK   SEES    A    GHOST  201 

about  me,  when  she  knows  nothing  at  all  about  the 
facts  or  about  me?  That  she  thinks  I  was  out  in  a 
boat  alone  with  two  men  ?  That  she  is  mean  enough 
to  condemn  me  without  knowing  the  first  thing 
about  this  awful  accident?  Oh,  I  have  no  words!" 
And  Agatha  covered  her  burning  face  with  her 
hands,  unable,  by  mere  speech,  to  express  her  out 
raged  feelings.  Doctor  Thayer  edged  uneasily 
about  Agatha's  couch,  with  a  manner  resembling 
that  of  a  whipped  dog. 

"Why,  my  dear  Miss  Agatha,  Susan  will  come 
round  in  time.  She's  not  so  bad,  really.  She'll 
come  round  in  time,  only  just  now  we  haven't  any 
time  to  spare.  Don't  feel  so  badly ;  Susan  is  too  set 
in  her  views — " 

"'Set!'"  cried  Agatha.  "She's  a  horrid,  un- 
Christian  woman !" 

"Oh,  no,"  remonstrated  the  doctor.  "Susan's  all 
right,  when  you  once  get  used  to  her.  She's  a  trifle 
old-fashioned  in  her  views — " 

But  Agatha  was  not  listening  to  the  doctor's 
feeble  justification  of  Susan.  She  was  thinking 
hard. 

"Doctor  Thayer,"  she  urged,  "do  you  want  that 
woman  to  come,  here  to  take  care  of  Mr.  Hamble- 


202  THE   STOLEN   SINGER/ 

ton?  Isn't  there  any  one  else  in  this  whole  country 
side  who  can  nurse  a  sick  man?  Why,  I  can  do  it 
myself;  or  Mr.  Van  Camp,  his  cousin,  could  do  it. 
Why  should  you  want  her,  of  all  people,  when  she 
feels  so  toward  us  ?" 

The  moment  his  professional  judgment  came  into 
question  Doctor  Thayer  slipped  out  from  the  cloud 
of  embarrassment  which  had  engulfed  him  in  his 
recent  conversation,  and  assumed  the  authoritative 
voice  that  Agatha  had  first  heard. 

"My  dear  Miss  Agatha  Redmond,  that  is  foolish 
talk.  You  are  half  sick,  even  now;  and  it  requires 
a  strong  person,  with  no  nerves,  to  do  what  I  de 
sire  done.  Mr.  Van  Camp  may  be  his  cousin,  but 
the  chances  are  that  he  wouldn't  know  a  bromide 
from  a  blister;  and  good  nurses  don't  grow  on 
bushes  in  Ilion,  nor  in  Charlesport,  either.  There 
isn't  one  to  be  had,  so  far  as  I  know,  and  we  can't 
wait  to  send  to  Augusta  or  Portland.  The  next 
few  days,  especially  the  next  twenty- four  hours,  are 
critical." 

Agatha  listened  intently,  and  a  growing  resolution 
shone  in  her  eyes. 

"Would  Mrs.  Stoddard  come,  if  it  were  not  for 
what  you  said — about  me?"  she  asked. 


ALECK    SEES   A   GHOST  203 

"The  Lord  only  knows,  but  I  think  she  would," 
replied  the  poor,  harassed  doctor.  "She's  always 
been  a  regular  Dorcas  in  this  neighborhood." 

"Dorcas !"  cried  Agatha,  her  anger  again  flaring 
up.  "I  should  say  Sapphira." 

"Oh,  now,  Susan  isn't  so  bad,  when  you  once 
know  her,"  urged  the  doctor. 

Agatha  got  up  and  went  to  the  window,  trailing 
her  traveling  rug  after  her.  "She  shall  come — I'll 
bring  her.  And  sometime  she  shall  mend  her  words 
about  me — but  that  can  wait.  If  she  will  only  help 
to  save  James  Hambleton's  life  now!  Where  does 
she  live?"  Suddenly,  as  she  stood  at  the  window, 
she  saw  her  opportunity.  "There's  Little  Simon 
down  there  now  under  the  trees;  and  his  buggy 
must  be  somewhere  near.  Will  you  stay  here,  Doc 
tor  Thayer,  with  Mr.  Hambleton,  while  I  go  to  see 
your  sister?" 

"Hadn't  I  better  drive  you  over  to  see  Susan 
myself?"  feebly  suggested  the  doctor. 

"No,  I'll  go  alone."  There  was  anger,  determina 
tion,  gunpowder  in  Agatha's  voice. 

"But  mind  you,  don't  offer  her  any  money,"  the 
doctor  warned,  as  he  watched  her  go  down  the  hall 
and  disappear  for  an  instant  in  the  bedroom  where 


204  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

James  Hambleton  lay.  She  came  out  almost  im 
mediately  and  without  a  word  descended  the  wide 
stairway,  opened  the  dining-room  door,  and  called 
softly  to  Sallie  Kingsbury. 

Doctor  Thayer  returned  to  the  sick-room.  Ten 
minutes  later  he  heard  the  wheels  of  Little  Simon's 
Ibuggy  rolling  rapidly  up  the  road  in  the  direction 
of  Susan  Stoddard's  place. 


CHAPTER   XIV 


SUSAN  STODDARD'S  PRAYER 


*  I  ''HERE  was  a  wide  porch,  spotlessly  scrubbed, 
A  along  the  front  of  the  house,  and  two  hydran 
geas  blooming  gorgeously  in  tubs,  one  on  either  side 
of  the  walk.  The  house  looked  new  and  modern, 
shiny  with  paint  and  furnished  with  all  the  con 
veniences  offered  by  the  relentless  progress  of  our 
day. 

Little  Simon  had  informed  Agatha,  during  their 
short  drive,  that  Deacon  Stoddard  had  achieved  this 
"residence"  shortly  before  his  death;  and  his  tone 
implied  that  it  was  the  pride  of  the  town,  its  real 
treasure.  Even  to  Agatha's  absorbed  and  preoccu 
pied  mind  it  presented  a  striking  contrast  to  the  old 
red  house,  which  had  received  her  so  graciously  into 
its  spacious  comfort.  She  marveled  that  anything 
so  fresh  and  modish  as  the  house  before  her  could 
have  come  into  being  in  the  old  town.  It  was  next 
to  a  certainty  that  there  was  a  model  laundry  with 
'  205 


206  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

set  tubs  beyond  the  kitchen,  and  equally  sure  that 
no  old  horsehair  lounge  subtly  invited  the  wearied 
traveler  to  rest. 

A  cool  draft  came  through  the  screen  door.  With 
in,  it  was  cleaner  than  anything  Agatha  had  ever 
seen.  The  stair-rail  glistened,  the  polished  floors 
shone.  A  neat  bouquet  of  sweet  peas  stood  exactly 
in  the  center  of  a  snow-white  doily,  which  was  ex 
actly  in  the  middle  of  a  shiny,  round  table.  The 
very  door-mat  was  brand  new ;  Agatha  would  never 
have  thought  of  wiping  her  shoes  on  it. 

Agatha's  ring  was  answered  by  a  half-grown 
girl,  who  looked  scared  when  she  saw  a  stranger  at 
the  door.  Agatha  walked  into  the  parlor,  in  spite 
of  the  girl's  hesitation  in  inviting  her,  and  directed 
her  to  say  to  Mrs.  Stoddard  that  Miss  Redmond, 
from  the  old  red  house,  wished  particularly  to  see 
her.  The  girl's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  in 
telligent  and  ecstatic  curiosity. 

"Oh!"  she  breathed.  Then,  "She's  putting  up 
plums,  but  she  can  come  out  in  a  few  minutes." 
She  could  not  go  without  lingering  to  look  at 
Agatha,  her  wide-eyed  gaze  taking  note  of  her  hair, 
her  dress,  her  hands,  her  face.  As  Agatha  became 
conscious  of  the  ingenuous  inspection  to  which  she 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S    PRAYER     207 

was  subjected,  she  smiled  at  the  girl — one  of  her 
old,  radiant,  friendly  smiles. 

"Run  now,  and  tell  Mrs.  Stoddard,  there's  a  good 
child !  And  sometime  you  must  come  to  see  me  at 
the  red  house;  will  you?" 

The  girl's  face  lighted  up  as  if  the  sun  had  come 
through  a  cloud.  She  smiled  at  Agatha  in  return, 
with  a  "Yes"  under  her  breath.  Thus  are  slaves 
made. 

Left  alone  in  the  cool,  dim  parlor,  so  orderly  and 
spotless,  Agatha  had  a  presentiment  of  the  prejudice 
of  class  and  of  religion  against  which  she  was  about 
to  throw  herself.  Susan  Stoddard's  fanaticism  was 
not  merely  that  of  an  individual ;  it  represented  the 
stored-up  strength  of  hardy,  conscience-driven  gen 
erations.  The  Stoddards  might  build  themselves 
houses  with  model  laundries,  but  they  did  not  there 
by  transfer  their  real  treasure  from  the  incorruptible 
kingdom.  If  they  were  not  ruled  by  aesthetic  ideals, 
neither  were  they  governed  by  thoughts  of  worldly 
display.  This  fragrant,  clean  room  bespoke  char 
acter  and  family  history.  Agatha  found  herself 
absently  looking  down  at  a  white  wax  cross,  en 
twined  with  wax  flowers,  standing  under  a  glass 
on  the  center-table.  It  was  a  strange  piece  of  handi- 


208  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

craft.  Its  whiteness  was  suggestive  of  death,  not 
life,  and  the  curving  leaves  and  petals,  through 
which  the  vital  sap  once  flowed,  were  beautiful  no 
longer,  now  that  their  day  of  tender  freshness  was 
so  inappropriately  prolonged.  As  Agatha,  with 
mind  aloof,  wondered  vaguely  at  the  laborious  pa 
tience  exhibited  in  the  work,  her  eye  caught  sight 
of  an  inscription  molded  in  the  wax  pedestal: 
"Brother."  Her  mind  was  sharply  brought  back 
from  the  impersonal  region  of  speculation.  What 
she  saw  was  not  merely  a  sentimental,  misguided 
attempt  at  art;  it  was  Susan  Stoddard's  memorial 
of  her  brother,  Hercules  Thayer — the  man  who  had 
so  unexpectedly  influenced  Agatha's  own  life.  To 
Susan  Stoddard  this  wax  cross  was  the  symbol  of 
the  companionship  of  childhood,  and  of  all  the  sweet 
and  bitter  involved  in  the  inexplicable  bond  of  blood 
relationship.  Agatha  felt  more  kindly  toward  her 
because  of  this  mute,  fantastic  memorial.  She 
looked  up  almost  with  her  characteristic  friendly 
smile  as  she  heard  slow,  steady  steps  coming  down 
the  hall. 

The  eyes  that  returned  Agatha's  look  were  not 
smiling,  though  they  did  not  look  unkind.  They 
gazed,  without  embarrassment,  as  without  pride, 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S    PRAYER     209 

into  Agatha's  face,  as  if  they  would  probe  at  once 
to  the  covered  springs  of  action.  Mrs.  Stoddard 
was  a  thick-set  woman,  rather  short,  looking  toward 
sixty,  with  iron-gray  hair  parted  in  the  middle  and 
drawn  back  in  an  old-fashioned,  pretty  way. 

It  was  to  the  credit  of  Mrs.  Stoddard's  breeding 
that  she  took  no  notice  of  Agatha's  peculiar  dress, 
unsuited  as  it  was  to  any  place  but  the  bedroom, 
even  in  the  morning.  Mrs.  Stoddard  herself  was 
neat  as  a  pin  in  a  cotton  gown  made  for  utility,  not 
beauty.  She  stood  for  an  instant  with  her  clear, 
untroubled  gaze  full  upon  Agatha,  then  drew  for 
ward  a  chair  from  its  mathematical  position  against 
the  wall.  When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  a  surprise, 
it  was  so  low  and  deep,  with  a  resonance  like  that 
of  the  'cello.  It  was  not  the  voice  of  a  young 
woman;  it  was,  rather,  a  rare  gift  of  age,  telling 
how  beautiful  an  old  woman's  speech  could  be. 
Moreover,  it  carried  refinement  of  birth  and  culture, 
a  beauty  of  phrase  and  enunciation,  which  would 
have  marked  her  with  distinction  anywhere. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Redmond?" 

Agatha,  standing  by  the  table  with  the  cross, 
made  no  movement  toward  the  chair.  She  was  not 
come  face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Stoddard  for  the  pur- 


2io  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

pose  of  social  visitation,  but  because,  in  the  warfare 
of  life,  she  had  been  sent  to  the  enemy  with  a  mes 
sage.  That,  at  least,  was  Agatha's  point  of  view. 
Officially,  she  was  come  to  plead  with  Mrs.  Stod 
dard;  personally,  she  was  hot  and  resentful  at  her 
unjust  words.  Her  reply  to  her  hostess'  greeting 
was  brief  and  her  attitude  unbending. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you,  Mrs.  Stoddard,"  Aga 
tha  began,  though  to  her  chagrin,  she  found  her 
voice  was  unsteady — "I  have  come  personally  to 
ask  you,  Mrs.  Stoddard,  if  you  will  help  us  in  caring 
for  our  friend,  who  is  very  ill.  Your  brother,  Doc 
tor  Thayer,  wishes  it.  It  is  a  case  of  life  and  death, 
maybe ;  and  skilful  nursing  is  difficult  to  find." 

Agatha's  hand,  that  rested  on  the  table,  was  trem 
bling  by  the  time  she  finished  her  speech;  she  was 
vividly  conscious  of  the  panic  that  had  come  upon 
her  nerves  at  a  fresh  realization  of  the  wall  of  de 
fense  and  resistance  which  she  was  attempting  to 
assail.  It  spoke  to  her  from  Mrs.  Stoddard's  calm, 
other-worldly  eyes,  from  her  serene,  deep  voice. 

"No,  Miss  Redmond,  that  work  is  not  for  me." 

"But  please,  Mrs.  Stoddard,  will  you  not  recon 
sider  your  decision?  It  is  not  for  myself  I  ask,  but 
for  another — one  who  is  suffering." 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S    PRAYER     211 

Mrs.  Stoddard's  gaze  went  past  Agatha  and 
rested  on  the  white  cross  with  the  inscription, 
"Brother."  She  slowly  shook  her  head,  saying 
again,  "No,  that  work  is  not  for  me.  The  Lord 
does  not  call  me  there.5' 

As  the  two  women  stood  there,  with  the  funeral 
cross  between  them,  each  with  her  heart's  burden 
of  griefs,  convictions  and  resentments,  each  recoiled, 
sensitively,  from  the  other's  touch.  But  life  and 
the  burden  life  imposes  were  too  strong. 

"How  can  you  say,  Mrs.  Stoddard,  'that  work  is 
not  for  me,'  when  there  is  suffering  you  can  relieve, 
sickness  that  you  can  cure?  I  am  asking  a  hard 
thing,  I  know;  but  we  will  help  to  make  it  as  easy 
as  possible  for  you,  and  we  are  in  great  need." 

"Should  the  servants  of  the  Lord  falter  in  doing 
His  work?"  Mrs.  Stoddard's  voice  intoned  rever-" 
ently,  while  she  looked  at  Agatha  with  her  sincere 
eyes.  "No.  He  gives  strength  to  perform  His 
commands.  But  sickness  and  sorrow  and  death  are 
on  every  hand;  to  some  it  is  appointed  for  a  mo 
ment's  trial,  to  others  it  is  the  wages  of  sin.  We 
can  not  alter  the  Lord's  decrees." 

Agatha  stared  at  the  rapt  speaker  with  amazed 
eyes,  and  presently  the  anger  she  had  felt  at  Doctor 


212  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Thayer's  words  rose  again  within  her  breast,  doubly 
strong.  The  doctor  had  given  but  a  feeble  version 
of  the  judgment;  here  was  the  real  voice  hurling 
anathema,  as  did  the  prophets  of  old.  But  even  as 
she  listened,  she  gathered  all  her  force  to  combat 
this  sword  of  the  spirit  which  had  so  suddenly  risen 
against  her. 

"You  are  a  hard  and  unjust  woman,  to  talk  of 
the  Vages  of  sin/  What  do  you  know  of  my  life, 
or  of  him  who  is  sick  over  at  the  red  house  ?  Who 
are  you,  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  us  ?" 

"I  am  the  humblest  of  His  servants,"  replied 
Susan  Stoddard,  and  there  was  no  shadow  of  hypoc 
risy  in  her  tones.  She  went  on,  almost  sorrow 
fully:  "But  we  are  sent  to  serve  and  obey.  'Keep 
ye  separate  and  apart  from  the  children  of  .this 
world,'  is  His  commandment,  and  I  have  no  choice 
but  to  obey.  Besides,"  and  she  looked  up  fearlessly 
into  Agatha's  face,  "we  do  know  about  you.  It  is 
spoken  of  by  all  how  you  follow  a  wicked  and 
worldly  profession.  You  can't  touch  pitch  and  not 
be  defiled.  The  temple  must  be  purged  and  emptied 
of  worldliness  before  Christ  can  come  in." 

Agatha  was  baffled  by  the  very  simplicity  and 
directness  of  Mrs.  Stoddard's  words,  even  though 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S   PRAYER     213 

she  felt  that  her  own  texts  might  easily  be  turned 
against  her.  But  she  had  no  heart  for  argument, 
even  if  it  would  lead  her  to  verbal  triumph  over  her 
companion.  Instinctively  she  felt  that  not  thus  was 
Mrs.  Stoddard  to  be  won. 

"Whatever  you  may  think  about  me  or  about  my 
profession,  Mrs.  Stoddard,"  she  said,  "you  must 
believe  me  when  I  say  that  Mr.  Hambleton  is  free 
from  your  censure,  and  worthy  of  your  sincerest 
praise.  He  is  not  an  opera  singer — of  that  I  am 
convinced — " 

Susan  Stoddard  here  interpolated  a  stern  "Don't 
you  know?" 

"Listen,  Mrs.  Stoddard!"  cried  Agatha  in  des 
peration.  "When  the  yacht,  the  Jeanne  D'Arc,  be 
gan  to  sink,  there  was  panic  and  fear  everywhere. 
While  I  was  climbing  down  into  one  of  the  smaller 
boats,  the  rope  broke,  and  I  fell  into  the  water.  I 
should  have  drowned,  then  and  there,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  this  man ;  for  all  the  rest  of  the  ship's  load 
jumped  into  the  boats  and  rowed  away  to  save 
themselves.  He  helped  me  to  come  ashore,  after  I 
had  become  exhausted  by  swimming.  He  is  ill  and 
near  to  death,  because  he  risked  his  life  to  save  mine. 
Is  not  that  a  heaven-inspired  act  ?" 


214  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

Mrs.  Stoddard's  eyes  glistened  at  Agatha's  tale, 
which  had  at  last  got  behind  the  older  woman's 
armor.  But  her  next  attack  took  a  form  that  Aga 
tha  had  not  foreseen.  In  her  reverent  voice,  so 
suited  to  exhortation,  she  demanded : 

"And  what  will  you  do  with  your  life,  now  that 
you  have  been  saved  by  the  hand  of  God?  Will 
you  dedicate  it  to  Him,  whose  child  you  are  ?" 

Agatha,  chafing  in  her  heart,  paused  a  moment 
before  she  answered : 

"My  life  has  not  been  without  its  tests  of  faith 
and  of  conscience,  Mrs.  Stoddard;  and  who  of  us 
does  not  wish,  with  the  deepest  yearning,  to  know 
the  right  and  to  do  it  ?" 

"Knowledge  comes  from  the  Lord,"  came  Mrs. 
Stoddard's  words,  like  an  antiphonal  response  in  the 
litany. 

"My  way  has  been  different  from  yours;  and  it 
is  a  way  that  would  be  difficult  for  you  to  under 
stand,  possibly.  But  you  shall  not  condemn  me 
without  reason." 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  that  man  you  have  been 
living  with  these  many  days?"  was  the  next  stern 
inquiry. 

A  stinging  blush — a  blush  of  anger  and  outraged 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S    PRAYER     215 

pride  as  much  as  of  modesty — surged  up  over  Aga 
tha's  face.  She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  in  that 
moment  learned  what  it  was  to  control  anger. 

"I  have  not  been  'living  with'  this  man,  in  any 
sense  of  the  term,  Mrs.  Stoddard.  I  will  say  this 
once  for  all  to  you,  though  I  never  would,  in  any 
other  conceivable  situation,  reply  to  such  a  question 
and  such  an  implication.  You  have  no  right  to  say 
or  think  such  things." 

"Wickedness  must  be  rebuked  of  the  Lord,"  in 
toned  Mrs.  Stoddard. 

"Are  you  His  mouthpiece?"  said  Agatha  scorn 
fully.  But  she  was  rebuked  for  her  scorn  by  Mrs. 
Stoddard's  look.  Her  eyes  rested  on  Agatha's  face 
with  pleading  and  patience,  as  if  she  were  a  world- 
mother,  agonizing  for  the  salvation  of  her  children. 

"It  is  His  command  to  pluck  the  brand  from  the 
burning,"  said  Susan  Stoddard.  "Ungodly  example 
is  a  sin,  and  earthly  love  often  a  snare  for  youthful 
feet." 

As  Agatha  listened  to  Mrs.  Stoddard's  strange 
plea,  the  instinct  within  her  which,  from  the  first 
moment  of  the  interview,  had  recoiled  from  this 
fanatical  but  intensely  spiritual  woman,  found  its 
way,  as  it  were,  into  the  light.  Such  was  the  power 


2i6  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

of  her  sincerity,  that,  in  spite  of  the  extraordinary 
character  of  the  interview,  Agatha's  heart  throbbed 
with  a  new  comprehension  which  was  almost  love. 
She  stepped  closer  to  Susan  Stoddard,  her  tall  figure 
overtopping  the  other's  sturdy  one,  and  took  one  of 
her  strong,  work-hardened  hands. 

"Mrs.  Stoddard,  this  man  has  never  spoken  a 
word  of  love  to  me.  But  if  I  ever  marry,  it  will  be 
a  man  like  him — a  plain,  high-hearted  gentleman. 
There!  You  have  a  woman's  secret.  And  now 
come  with  me,  and  help  us  to  save  a  life.  You  can 
not,  you  must  not,  refuse  me  now." 

The  subtle  changes  of  the  mind  are  hard  to  trace 
and  are  often  obscure  even  to  the  eye  of  science; 
but  every  day  those  changes  make  or  mar  our  joy. 
Susan  Stoddard  looked  for  a  long  minute  up  into 
the  vivid  face  bending  over  hers,  while  her  spirit, 
even  as  Agatha's  had  done,  pierced  the  hedge  which 
separated  them,  and  comprehended  something  of 
the  goodness  in  the  other's  soul.  Finally  she  laid 
her  other  hand  over  Agatha's,  enclosing  it  in  a 
strong  clasp.  Then,  with  a  certain  pathetic  pride  in 
her  submission,  she  said : 

"I  have  been  wrong,  Agatha ;  I  will  come."  Aga 
tha's  grateful  eyes  dwelt  on  hers,  but  the  strain  of 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S    PRAYER     217 

the  interview  was  beginning  to  count.  She  sank 
down  in  the  chair  that  Mrs.  Stoddard  had  offered 
at  the  beginning  of  their  meeting,  and  covered  her 
eyes  with  one  hand.  The  elder  woman  kept  the 
other. 

"We  will  not  go  to  our  task  alone,"  she  said,  "we 
will  ask  God's  help.  The  prayer  of  faith  shall  heal 
the  sick."  Then  falling  to  her  knees  by  Agatha's 
side,  with  rapt,  lifted  face  and  closed  eyes,  she  made 
her  confession  and  her  petition  to  the  Lord.  Her 
ringing  voice  intoned  the  phrases  of  the  Bible  as  if 
they  had  been  music  and  bore  the  burden  of  her 
deepest  soul.  She  said  she  had  been  sinful  in  im 
puting  unrighteousness  to  others,  and  that  she  had 
been  blinded  by  her  own  wilfulness.  She  prayed  for 
the  stranger  within  her  gates,  for  the  sick  man  over 
yonder,  and  implored  God's  blessing  on  the  work 
of  her  hands;  and  praise  should  be  to  the  Lord. 
Amen. 

"And  now,  Angie,"  she  said  practically,  as  she 
rose  to  her  feet,  addressing  the  girl  who  instantly 
appeared  from  around  the  doorway,  "go  and  tell 
Little  Simon  to  drive  up  to  the  horse-block.  Aga 
tha,  you  go  home  and  rest,  and  I'll  get  hitched  up 
and  be  over  there  almost  as  soon  as  you  are.  Angie 


218  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

will  help  me  get  the  ice-bag  and  all  the  other  things, 
in  case  you  might  not  have  them  handy.  Come, 
Agatha!" 

But  they  paused  yet  a  moment,  stopping  as  if  by 
a  common  instinct  to  look  at  the  white  cross.  Susan 
Stoddard  gazed  down  on  it  with  a  grief  in  her  eyes 
that  was  the  more  heartbreaking  because  it  was  in 
articulate.  Agatha  remembered  the  doctor's  words, 
and  understood  something  of  the  friction  that  could 
exist  between  this  evangelistic  sister  and  the  finer, 
more  intellectual  brother. 

"I've  never  been  inside  the  old  red  house  since  he 
died,"  said  Mrs.  Stoddard. 

"I'm  sorry!"  cried  Agatha.  "It  is  hard  for  you 
to  come  there,  I  know." 

"He  maketh  the  rough  places  plain,"  chanted  Su 
san  Stoddard.  "Hercules  was  a  good  brother  and 
a  good  man !" 

Agatha  laid  her  arm  about  the  older  woman's 
shoulder,  and  thus  was  led  out  to  Little  Simon's 
buggy.  Susan  helped  her  in,  and  Agatha  leaned 
back,  with  closed  eyes,  indifferent  to  the  beauty  of 
early  afternoon  on  a  cool  summer's  day.  Little 
Simon  let  her  ride  in  quiet,  but  landed  her  in  the 


SUSAN    STODDARD'S    PRAYER     219 

dust  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  from  the  lilac 
bushes. 

'Those  trees !"  said  Doctor  Thayer's  voice,  as  he 
came  out  to  meet  her.  "How  did  you  make  out  with 
Susan?" 

"She's  coming,"  said  Agatha.  "Is  your  patient 
any  better?" 

"I  don't  think  he's  any  worse,"  answered  the  doc 
tor  dubiously,  "but  I'm  glad  Susan's  coming.  I'd 
be  glad  to  know  how  you  got  round  her." 

Agatha  paused  a  moment  before  replying,  "I 
wrestled  with  her." 

The  doctor  smiled  grimly.  "I've  known  the 
wrestling  to  come  out  the  other  way." 

"I  can  believe  that !"  said  Agatha. 

"Well,  it's  fairly  to  your  credit !"  And  perhaps 
this  was  as  near  praise  as  his  New  England  speech 
ever  came. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ECHOES  FROM  THE  CITY 

O  ALLIE  KINGSBURY,  unused  to  psychological 
analysis,  could  not  have  explained  why  Mr. 
Hand  was  so  objectionable  to  her.  He  was  no  rela 
tive  of  the  family,  she  had  discovered  that;  and,  ac 
customed  as  she  was  to  the  old-fashioned  gentility 
of  a  thrifty  New  England  town,  instinct  told  her 
that  he  could  not  possibly  be  one  of  its  varied  prod 
ucts.  He  might  have  come  from  anywhere;  he 
talked  so  little  that  he  was  suspicious  on  that  ground 
alone;  and  when  he  did  speak,  there  was  no  accent 
at  all  that  Sallie  could  lay  hold  of.  Useful  as  he 
was  just  now  in  taking  care  of  that  poor  young  man 
up-stairs,  he  nevertheless  inspired  in  her  breast  a 
most  unholy  irritation.  Her  attitude  was  that  of  a 
housemaid  pursuing  the  cat  with  the  broom. 

Mr.  Hand  was  not  greatly  troubled  by  Sallie's 
tendency  to  sweep  him  out  of  the  way,  but  whenever 
he  took  any  notice  of  her  he  was  more  than  a  match 

220 


ECHOES    FROM    THE   CITY        221 

for  her.  On  the  afternoon  following  Agatha's  visit 
to  Mrs.  Stoddard,  he  appeared  to  show  some  slight 
objection  to  being  treated  like  the  cat.  He  ate  his 
luncheon  in  the  kitchen — a  large,  delightful  room — 
while  Aleck  Van  Camp  stayed  with  James.  Hand 
was  stirring  broth  over  the  stove,  now  and  then  giv 
ing  a  sharp  eye  to  Sallie's  preparation  of  her  new 
mistress'  luncheon. 

"You  haven't  put  any  salt  or  pepper  on  madem 
oiselle's  tray,  Sallie,"  said  he,  as  the  maid  was  about 
to  start  up-stairs. 

"Miss  Sallie,  I  should  prefer,  Mr.  Hand,"  she  re 
quested  in  a  mournful  tone  of  resignation.  "And 
Miss  Redmond  don't  take  any  pepper  on  her  aigs; 
I  watched  her  yesterday." 

"Well,  she  may  want  some  to-day,  just  the  same," 
insisted  Mr.  Hand  in  a  lordly  manner,  putting  a 
thin  silver  boat,  filled  with  salt,  and  a  cheap  pink 
glass  pepper-shaker  side  by  side  on  the  tray.  Sallie 
brushed  Hand  away  in  disgust. 

"That  doesn't  go  with  the  best  silver  salt-cellar; 
that's  the  kitchen  pepper.  And,  you  can  say  Miss 
Sallie,  if  you  please." 

"No,  just  Sallie,  if  you  please !  I've  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  you,  Sallie,  and  I  don't  like  to  be  so  for- 


222  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

mal,"  argued  Hand.  "Besides,  I  like  your  name; 
and  I'll  carry  che  tray  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  for 
you,  if  you'll  be  good." 

"I  wouldn't  trouble  you  for  the  world,  Mr. 
Hand,"  she  tossed  back.  "You'd  stumble  and  break 
Parson  Thayer's  best  china  -that  I've  washed  for 
seventeen  years  and  only  broke  the  handle  of  one 
cup.  She  wouldn't  drink  her  coffee  this  morning 
outer  the  second-best  cups;  went  to  the  buttery  be 
fore  breakfast  and  picked  out  wunner  the  best  set, 
and  poured  herself  a  cup.  She  said  it  was  inspiring, 
but  I  call  it  wasteful — and  me  with  extra  work  all 
day!" 

Sallie  disappeared,  leaving  a  dribbling  trail  of 
good-natured  complaint  behind  her.  Mr.  Hand  con 
tinued  making  broth — at  which  he  was  as  expert  as 
he  was  at  the  lever  or  the  launch  engine.  He  strained 
and  seasoned,  and  regarded  two  floating  islands  of 
oily  substance  with  disapproval.  While  he  was 
working  Sallie  joinea  him  again  at  the  stove,  her 
important  and  injured  manner  all  to  the  front. 

"Says  she'll  take  another  aig,"  she  explained. 
"Only  took  one  yesterday,  and  then  I  had  two  all 
cooked." 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  jeered  Hand, 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    CITY        223 

"You  didn't  tell  me  anything  about  aigs,  not  that 
I  recollect/'  Sallie  replied  tartly. 

"Well,  the  principle's  the  same,"  asserfed  Hand. 
After  a  moment  his  countenance  assumed  a  crafty 
and  jocose  expression,  which  would  have  put  even 
Sallie  on  her  guard  if  she  had  looked  up  in  time  to 
see  it.  "You  won't  have  so  much  extra  \vork  when 
mademoiselle's  maid  arrives,"  he  said  slyly.  "She'll 
wait  on  mademoiselle  and  attend  to  her  *ray  when 
she  wants  one,  and  you  won't  have  to  do  anything 
for  mademoiselle  at  all." 

Sallie  became  slowly  transfixed  in  a  spread-eagle 
attitude,  with  the  half  of  a  thin  white  egg-shell  held 
up  in  each  hand. 

"A  maid!    When's  she  coming?" 

"Ought  to  be  here  now,  she's  had  time  enough. 
But  women  never  can  get  round  without  wasting  a 
lot  of  time."  Sallie's  glance  must  have  brought  him 
to  his  senses,  for  he  added  hastily,  "City  women,  I 


mean." 


"Hm !  She  won't  touch  Parson  Thayer's  china — • 
not  if  I  know  myself!"  Sallie  disappeared  with 
Miss  Redmond's  second  egg.  When  she  returned, 
she  delivered  a  message  to  the  effect  that  Miss  Red 
mond  wished  to  see  Mr.  Hand  when  he  had  finished 


224  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

his  luncheon.  He  was  off  instantly,  calling,  "Watch 
that  broth,  Sallie!" 

It  was  a  different  Hand,  however,  who  entered 
Miss  Redmond's  room  a  moment  later.  His  half  im 
pudent  manner  changed  to  distant  respect,  tinged 
with  a  sort  of  personal  adoration.  Agatha  felt  it, 
though  it  was  too  intangible  to  be  taken  notice  of, 
either  for  rebuke  or  reward.  Agatha  was  sitting  in 
a  rocking-chair  by  the  window,  sipping  her  tea  out 
of  the  best  tea-cup,  her  tray  on  a  stand  in  front  of 
her.  She  looked  excited  and  flushed,  but  her  eyes 
were  tired. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mademoiselle?" 
Hand  inquired  courteously. 

"Yes,  please,"  answered  Agatha,  and  paused  a  mo 
ment,  as  if  to  recall  her  thoughts  in  order.  Hand 
was  very  presentable,  in  negligee  shirt  which  Sallie 
must  have  washed  while  he  was  asleep.  He  was  one 
of  those  people  who  look  best  in  their  working  or 
sporting  clothes,  ruddy,  clean  and  strong.  He  would 
have  dwindled  absolutely  into  the  commonplace  in 
Sunday  clothes,  if  he  was  ever  so  rash  as  to  have 
any. 

"I  wish  to  talk  with  you  a  little,"  said  Agatha. 
"We  haven't  had  much  opportunity  of  talking,  so 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    CITY        225 

far;  and  perhaps  it  is  time  that  we  understand  each 
other  a  little  better." 

"As  mademoiselle  wishes,"  conceded  Hand. 

"In  the  first  place,"  Agatha  went  on,  "I  must  tell 
you  that  Mrs.  Stoddard  is  coming  to  help  nurse  Mr. 
Hambleton.  You  have  been  very  good  to  stay  with 
us  so  long;  and  if  you  will  stay  on,  I  shall  be  glad. 
But  Doctor  Thayer  thinks  you  should  have  help,  and 
so  do  I.  Especially  for  the  next  few  days." 

"That  is  entirely  agreeable  to  me,  Mademoiselle." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what — what  remuneration  you 
were  receiving  as  chauffeur?" 

"Pardon  me,  but  that  is  unnecessary,  Mademoi 
selle.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  stay  here,  either  tak 
ing  care  of  Mr.  Hambleton  or  in  any  outdoor  work, 
for  a  week  or  as  long  as  you  may  need  me,  I  shall 
consider  myself  repaid." 

Agatha  was  silent  while  she  buttered  a  last  bit  of 
toast.  Hand's  reticence  and  evident  secretiveness 
were  baffling.  She  had  no  intention  of  letting  the 
point  of  wages  go  by  in  the  way  Hand  indicated,  but 
after  deliberation  she  dropped  it  for  the  moment,  in 
order  to  take  up  another  matter. 

"I  was  wondering,"  she  began  again,  "how  you 
happened  to  escape  from  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  alone  in 


226  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

a  rowboat,  and  what  your  connection  with  Mon 
sieur  Chatelard  was.  Will  you  tell  me  ?" 

A  perfectly  vacant  look  came  into  Hand's  face. 
He  might  have  been  deaf  and  dumb. 

At  last  Agatha  began  again.  "I  am  grateful,  ex 
ceedingly  grateful,  Mr.  Hand,  for  all  that  you  have 
done  for  us  since  this  catastrophe,  but  I  can't  have 
any  mystery  about  people.  That  is  absurd.  Did 
you  leave  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  when  the  others  did — 
when  I  fell  into  the  water?" 

This  time  Hand  consented  to  answer.  "No,  Mad 
emoiselle;  T  did  not  know  you  had  fallen  into  the 
water  until  I  brought  you  ashore  in  the  morning." 

"Then  how  did  you  get  off?" 

"Well,  it  was  rather  queer.  The  men  were  all 
tired  out  working  at  the  pumps,  and  Monsieur 
Chatelard  ordered  a  seaman  named  Bazinet  and  me 
to  relieve  two  of  them.  He  said  he  would  call  us 
when  the  boats  were  lowered,  as  the  yacht  was  then 
getting  pretty  shaky.  Bazinet  and  I  worked  a  long 
time ;  and  when  finally  we  got  on  deck,  thinking  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc  was  nearly  done  for,  the  boats  had  put 
off.  We  heard  some  one  shouting,  and  Bazinet  got 
frightened  and  jumped  for  the  boat.  He  thought 
they'd  wait  for  him.  It  was  too  dark  for  me  to  see 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    CITY        227 

whether  he  made  it  or  not.  I  stayed  on  the  yacht  for 
some  time,  not  knowing  anything  better  to  do — " 
Hand  allowed  himself  a  faint  smile —  "and  at  last, 
after  a  hunt,  I  found  that  extra  boat,  stowed  away 
aft.  It  was  very  small,  and  it  leaked ;  probably  that 
was  why  they  did  not  think  of  using  it.  But  it  was 
better  than  nothing.  I  found  some  putty  and  a  tin 
bucket,  and  got  food  and  a  lot  of  other  things, 
though  the  boat  filled  so  fast  that  I  had  to  throw 
most  everything  out.  But  I  got  ashore,  as  you 
know.  I  didn't  even  wait  to  see  the  last  of  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc." 

Agatha's  eyes  shone.  Hand's  story  was  perfectly 
simple  and  plausible.  But  the  other  question  was 
even  more  important.  She  hesitated  bti.ore  repeat 
ing  it,  however,  and  rewarded  Hand's  unusual  frank 
ness  with  a  grateful  look. 

"That  was  a  night  of  experience  for  us  all,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  sigh  at  the  memory  of  it. 

"But  tell  me — "  Agatha  looked  up  squarely  at 
Hand,  only  to  encounter  his  deaf  and  dumb  expres 
sion. 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  Mademoiselle,"  said 
Hand  deferentially,  "I  think  Mr.  Hambleton's  broth 
is  burning." 


228  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

"Ah,  well,  very  well !"  said  Agatha.  And  in  spite 
of  herself  she  smiled. 

Hand  found  Mrs.  Stoddard  installed  in  James 
Hambleton's  room.  Doctor  Thayer  and  Aleck  had 
gone,  both  leaving  word  that  they  would  return 
before  night.  Mrs.  Stoddard  had  smoothed  James's 
bed,  folded  down  the  sheet  with  exactness,  noted 
her  brother's  directions  for  treatment,  and  sat  read 
ing  her  Bible  by  the  window.  Mr.  Hand  stood  for  a 
moment,  silently  regarding  first  the  patient,  then  his 
nurse. 

"By  the  grace  of  God,  he  will  pull  through,  I 
firmly  believe!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Stoddard. 

As  the  first  words  came  in  that  resonant  deep 
voice,  Hand  thought  that  the  new  nurse  was  swear 
ing,  though  presently  he  changed  his  mind. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  replied  with  unwonted  meek 
ness.  Then,  "I'll  sleep  an  hour  or  two,  if  that  is 
agreeable  to  you,  ma'am." 

"Perfectly!"  heartily  responded  Mrs.  Stoddard, 
and  Mr.  Hand  disappeared  like  the  mist  before  the 
sun. 

It  was  to  be  an  afternoon  of  excitement,  after  all, 
though  Agatha  thought  that  she  would  apply  herself 
to  the  straightening  out  of  much  necessary  business. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   CITY        229 

But  after  an  hour's  work  over  letters  at  Parson 
Thayer's  desk,  there  occurred  an  ebullition  below 
which  could  be  nothing  less  than  the  arrival  of  Liz 
zie,  Agatha's  maid,  with  sundry  articles  of  luggage. 
She  was  a  small-minded  but  efficient  city  girl,  clever 
enough  to  keep  her  job  by  making  herself  useful, 
and  sophisticated  to  the  point  of  indecency.  No 
woman  ought  ever  to  have  known  so  much  as  Lizzie 
knew.  Agatha  was  to  hear  how  she  had  been  re 
lieved  by  the  telegram  several  days  before,  how  she 
had  nearly  killed  herself  packing  in  such  haste,  how 
she  thought  she  was  traveling  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  coming  thus  to  a  region  she  had  never  heard 
of  before. 

Big  Simon,  who  had  been  instructed  to  watch 
for  Lizzie  and  bring  her  and  her  baggage  out,  pres 
ently  arrived  with  the  trunks,  having  sent  the  maid 
on  ahead  in  the  buggy  with  his  son.  Big  Simon 
positively  declined  to  carry  the  two  trunks  to  the 
second  floor,  saying  he  thought  they'd  like  it  just  as 
well,  or  better,  if  he  left  them  in  the  hall  down-stairs. 
Lizzie  was  angrily  hesitating  whether  to  argue  with 
him  or  use  the  persuasion  of  one  of  her  mistress* 
silver  coins,  when  Agatha  interfered,  and  saved  her 
from  making  the  mistake  of  her  life.  It  is  doubtful 


230  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

if  she  could  have  lived  in  Ilion  after  having  been 
guilty  of  tipping  one  of  its  foremost  citizens.  And 
even  if  she  had,  she  would  not  have  got  the  trunks 
taken  up-stairs. 

The  prospect  of  discarding  Sallie  Kingsbury's 
makeshifts  and  wearing  a  dress  which  belonged  to 
her  had  more  comfort  in  it  than  Agatha  had  ever 
believed  possible;  and  the  reality  was  even  better. 
She  made  a  toilet,  for  the  first  time  in  many  days, 
with  her  accustomed  accessories,  dressed  herself  in 
a  white  wool  gown,  and  felt  better. 

"Are  these  the  relatives  you  were  visiting,  Miss 
Redmond?"  inquired  Lizzie,  eaten  up  with  curiosity, 
which  was  her  mortal  weakness. 

Agatha  paused,  struck  with  the  form  of  the 
maid's  question;  but,  knowing  her  liking  for  items 
of  news,  she  answered  cautiously : 

"Not  relatives  exactly.  The  Thayers  were  old 
friends  of  my  mother." 

Lizzie  shook  out  a  skirt  and  hung  it  in  the  ward 
robe  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room.  She  was  burst 
ing  to  know  everything  about  Miss  Redmond's  sud 
den  journey,  but  knew  better  than  to  appear  anxious. 

"The  message  at  the  hotel  was  so  indefinite  that 
I  didn't  know  at  all  what  I  should  do.  After  the 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    CITY        231 

excitement  quieted  down  a  little,  I  went  out  to  visit 
my  cousin  Hattie,  in  the  Bronx/' 

"What  sort  of  excitement?" 

"Oh,  newspaper  men,  and  the  manager,  and  Herr 
Weimar,  of  the  orchestra,  and  a  lot  of  other  people 
who  came,  wanting  to  see  you  immediately.  They 
seemed  to  think  I  was  hiding  you  somewhere." 

Agatha  smiled.  She  could  imagine  Lizzie  in  her 
new-fledged  importance,  talking  to  all  those  people. 

"You  spoke  of  a  message — "  ventured  Agatha. 

"Yes;  the  one  you  sent  the  day  you  left,  Miss 
Redmond.  The  hotel  clerk  said  you  had  suddenly 
left  town  on  a  visit  to  a  sick  relative." 

"Oh,  yes." 

Lizzie's  quick  scent  was  already  on  the  trail  of  a 
mystery,  but  Agatha  was  in  no  mood  just  then  to 
give  her  any  version  of  the  events  of  that  Monday 
afternoon. 

"Was  there  any  other  message,  Miss  Redmond? 
Some  word  for  me,  which  the  clerk  forgot  to 
deliver  ?" 

"No,  nothing  else." 

"Mr.  Straker  came  Tuesday  morning  with  some 
contracts  for  you  to  sign.  He  said  that  you  had  an 
appointment  with  him,  and  he  was  nearly  crazy  when 


232  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

he  found  you  had  gone  away  without  leaving  your 
address." 

Agatha  smiled  more  and  more  broadly,  to  Lizzie's 
disgust,  but  she  could  not  help  it.  "I  don't  doubt  he 
was  disturbed.  Did  he  come  again  ?" 

"Come  again,  Miss  Redmond!"  Lizzie  hung  a 
blue  silk  coat  over  its  hanger,  held  it  carefully  up  to 
the  light,  and  turned  toward  her  mistress  with  the 
mien  of  a  person  who  isn't  to  be  bamboozled.  "He 
came  twice  every  day  to  see  if  I  had  any  word  from 
you;  and  when  I  went  to  Cousin  Hattie's  he  called 
me  up  on  the  'phone  every  morning  and  evening. 
Most  unreasonable,  Mr.  Straker  was.  He  said  there 
wasn't  a  singer  in  town  he  could  get  to  fill  your  en 
gagements,  and  he  was  losing  a  hundred  dollars  a 
day.  He's  very  much  put  out,  Miss  Redmond." 

"Well,  I  was,  too,"  said  Agatha,  but  somehow  her 
tone  failed  to  satisfy  the  maid.  To  Agatha  the 
thought  of  the  dictatorial  manager  fluttering  about 
New  York  in  quest  of  a  vanished  singer — well,  the 
picture  had  its  humorous  side.  It  had  its  serious 
side,  too,  for  Agatha,  of  course,  but  for  the  moment 
she  put  off  thinking  about  that.  Lizzie,  however, 
had  borne  the  brunt  of  Mr.  Straker's  vexation,  and, 
in  that  lumber-box  she  called  her  mind,  she  regarded 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   CITY        233 

the  matter  solely  as  her  personal  cue  to  come  more 
prominently  upon  the  stage. 

"Then  your  accompanist  came  every  morning,  as 
you  had  directed,  Miss  Redmond;  and  Madame 
Florio  sent  word  a  dozen  times  about  those  new 
gowns."  Lizzie,  with  the  memory  of  her  sudden  im 
portance,  almost  took  up  the  role  of  baffled  inno 
cence.  "I  declare,  Miss  Redmond,  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do  or  say  to  those  people.  The  whole  thing 
seemed  so  irregular,  with  you  not  leaving  any  word 
of  explanation  with  me." 

"That  is  true,  Lizzie;  it  was  irregular,  and  cer 
tainly  very  inconvenient.  And  it  is  serious  enough, 
so  far  as  breaking  my  engagements  is  concerned. 
But  the  circumstances  were  very  unusual  and — 
pressing.  Some  one  else  gave  the  message  at  the  ho 
tel,  and,  as  you  know,  I  had  no  time  even  to  get  a 
satchel." 

"That's  what  I  said  when  the  reporters  came — 
that  you  were  so  worried  over  your  sick  relative  that 
you  did  not  wait  for  anything." 

Agatha  groaned.  "Did — did  the  papers  have 
much  to  say  about  my  leaving  town  ?" 

"They  had  columns,  Miss  Redmond,  and  some  of 
them  had  your  picture  on  the  front  page  with  an 


234  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

announcement  of  your  elopement.  But  Mr.  Stralcer 
contradicted  that;  he  told  them  he  had  heard  from 
you,  and  that  you  were  at  the  bedside  of  a  dying  rela 
tive.  Besides  that,  Miss  Redmond,  the  difficulty  in 
getting  up  an  elopement  story  was  the  lack  of  a  prob 
able  man.  Your  manager  and  your  accompanist 
were  both  found  and  interviewed,  and  there  wasn't 
anybody  else  in  New  York  except  me  who  knew 
you.  Your  discretion,  Miss  Redmond,  has  always 
been  remarkable." 

Agatha  was  suddenly  tired  of  Lizzie. 

"Very  well,  Lizzie,  that  will  do.  You  may  go  and 
get  your  own  things  unpacked.  We  shan't  return  to 
New  York  for  several  days  yet." 

"You've  heard  from  Mr.  Straker,  of  course,  Miss 
Redmond?" 

"No,  but  I  have  written  to  him,  explaining  every 
thing.  Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing;  only  when  I  sent  him  word  that  I 
had  heard  from  you,  he  said  at  first  that  he  was  com 
ing  here  with  me.  Some  business  prevented  him,  but 
he  must  have  telegraphed." 

"Maybe  he  has ;  but  it  takes  some  time,  evidently, 
for  a  hidden  person  to  be  discovered  in  Ilion." 

As  soon  as  the  words  were  off  her  lips,  Agatha 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   CITY        235 

realized  that  she  had  made  a  slip.  One  has  to  look 
sharp  when  talking  to  a  sophisticated  maid. 

"But  were  you  hiding,  Miss  Redmond?"  Lizzie 
artlessly  inquired. 

"Oh,  no,  Lizzie;  don't  be  silly.  The  telegram 
probably  went  wrong;  telegrams  often  do." 

"Not  when  Mr.  Straker  sends  them,"  proffered 
Lizzie.  "But  if  his  telegrams  have  gone  wrong,  you 
may  count  on  his  coming  down  here  himself.  He  is 
much  worried  over  the  rehearsals,  which  begin  early 
in  the  month,  he  said.  And  he  got  the  full  directions 
you  sent  me  for  coming  here ;  he  would  have  them." 

Agatha  knew  her  manager's  pertinacity  when  once 
on  the  track  of  an  object.  Moreover,  the  humor  of 
the  situation  passed  from  her  mind,  leaving  only  a 
vivid  impression  of  the  trouble  and  worry  which 
were  sure  to  follow  such  a  serious  breaking  up  of 
well  established  plans.  She  was  rarely  capricious, 
even  under  vexation,  but  she  yielded  to  a  caprice  at 
this  moment,  and  one,  moreover,  that  was  very  un 
just  toward  her  much-tried  manager.  The  thought 
of  that  man  bursting  in  upon  her  in  the  home  that 
had  been  the  fastidious  Hercules  Thayer's,  in  the 
midst  of  her  anxiety  and  sorrow  over  James  Hamble- 
ton,  was  intolerable. 


236  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"If  Mr.  Straker  should  by  any  chance  follow  me 
here,  you  must  tell  him  that  I  can  not  see  him,"  she 
said,  and  departed,  leaving  Lizzie  wrapped  in  right 
eous  indignation. 

"Well,  I  never!"  she  exclaimed,  after  her  mistress 
had  disappeared.  "Can't  see  him,  after  coming  all 
this  way!  And  into  a  country  like  this,  too,  where 
there's  only  one  bath-tub,  and  you  fill  that  from  a 
pump  in  the  yard !" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  FIGHTING  CHANCE 

r  I  "'HE  dining-room  of  the  old  red  house  was  cool, 
A  and  fragrant  from  the  blossoming  heliotrope  bed 
below  its  window.  The  twilight,  which  is  long  in 
eastern  Maine,  shed  a  soft  glow  over  the  old  mahog 
any  and  silver,  and  an  equally  soft  and  becoming 
radiance  over  the  two  women  seated  at  the  table. 
After  a  sonorous  blessing,  uttered  by  Mrs.  Stoddard 
in  tones  full  of  unction,  she  and  Agatha  ate  supper 
in  a  sympathetic  silence.  It  was  a  meal  upon  which 
Sallie  Kingsbury  expended  her  best  powers  as  cook, 
with  no  mean  results ;  but  nobody  took  much  notice 
of  it,  after  all.  Mrs.  Stoddard  poured  her  tea  into 
her  saucer,  drinking  and  eating  absent-mindedly. 
Her  face  lighted  with  something  very  like  a  smile 
whenever  she  caught  Agatha's  eyes,  but  to  her  talk 
was  not  necessary.  Sallie  hovered  around  the  door, 
even  though  Lizzie  had  condescended  to  put  on  a 
white  apron  and  serve.  But  Agatha  sent  the  city 

237 


238  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

maid  away,  bidding  her  wait  on  the  people  in  the 
sick-room  instead. 

Mr.  Hand  had  been  left  with  the  patient  and  had 
acquiesced  in  the  plan  to  stay  on  duty  until  midnight, 
when  Mrs.  Stoddard  was  to  be  called.  Agatha  had 
spent  an  hour  with  James,  helping  Mrs.  Stoddard, 
or  watching  the  patient  while  the  nurse  made  many 
necessary  trips  to  the  kitchen.  The  sight  of  James's 
woeful  plight  drove  every  thought  from  her  mind. 
Engagements  and  managers  lost  their  reality,  and 
became  shadow  memories  beside  the  vividness  of  his 
desperate  need.  He  had  no  knowledge  of  her,  or  of 
any  efforts  to  secure  his  comfort.  He  talked  inces 
santly,  sometimes  in  a  soft,  unintelligible  murmur, 
sometimes  in  loud  and  emphatic  tones.  His  eyes 
were  brilliant  but  wandering,  his  movements  were 
abrupt  or  violent,  heedless  or  feeble,  as  the  moment 
decreed.  He  talked  about  the  dingy,  nasty  fo'cas'le, 
the  absurdity  of  his  not  being  able  to  get  around,  the 
fine  outfit  of  the  Sea  Gull,  the  chill  of  the  water.  He 
sometimes  swore  softly,  almost  apologetically,  and 
he  uttered  most  unchristian  sentiments  toward  some 
person  whom  he  described  as  wearing  extremely 
neat  and  dandified  clothes. 

After  the  first  five  minutes  Agatha  paid  no  heed  to 


A   FIGHTING   CHANCE  239 

his  words,  and  could  bear  to  stay  in  the  room  only 
when  she  was  able  to  do  something  to  soothe  or 
comfort  him.  She  was  not  wholly  unfamiliar  with 
illness  and  the  trouble  that  comes  in  its  train,  but 
the  sight  of  James,  with  his  unrecognizing  eyes  and 
his  wits  astray,  a  superb  engine  gone  wild,  brought 
a  sharp  and  hitherto  unknown  pain  to  her  throat. 
She  stood  over  his  bed,  holding  his  hands  when  he 
would  reach  frenziedly  into  the  air  after  some  object 
of  his  feverish  desire;  she  coaxed  him  back  to  his 
pillow  when  he  fancied  he  must  run  to  catch  some 
thing  that  was  escaping  him.  It  took  nerve  and 
strength  to  care  for  him ;  unceasing  vigilance  and  in 
genuity  were  required  in  circumventing  his  erratic 
movements. 

And  through  it  all  there  was  "something  about  his 
clean,  honest  mind  and  person  that  stirred  only  affec 
tionate  pity.  He  was  a  child,  taking  a  child's  liber 
ties.  Mrs.  Stoddard  brooded  over  him  already,  as 
a  mother  over  her  dearest  son ;  Mr.  Hand  had  turned 
gentle  as  a  woman  and  gave  the  service  of  love,  not 
of  the  eye.  His  skill  in  managing  almost  rivaled 
Mrs.  Stoddard's.  James  accepted  Hand's  ministra 
tions  as  a  matter  of  course,  became  more  docile 
under  his  treatment,  and  watched  for  him  when  he 


240  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

disappeared.  Indeed,  the  whole  household  was 
taxed  for  James;  and  Agatha,  deeply  distressed  as 
she  was,  throbbed  with  gratitude  that  she  could  help 
care  for  him,  if  only  for  an  hour. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  two  women,  eating  their  sup 
per  and  looking  out  over  Hercules  Thayer's  pleasant 
garden,  were  silent.  Mrs.  Stoddard  was  thinking 
about  the  duties  of  the  night,  Agatha  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  miseries  of  the  last  hour.  Mrs.  Stoddard 
was  the  first  to  rise.  She  was  tipping  off  on  her 
fingers  a  number  of  items  which  Agatha  did  not 
catch,  saying  "Hm!"  and  "Yes!"  to  herself.  Despite 
her  deep  anxiety,  Mrs.  Stoddard  was  in  her  element. 
She  had  nothing  less  than  genius  in  nursing.  She  was 
cheerful,  quick  in  emergencies,  steady  under  the  ex 
citements  of  the  sick-room,  and  faithful  in  small,  as 
well  as  large,  matters.  Moreover,  she  excelled  most 
doctors  in  her  ability  to  interpret  changes  and  symp 
toms,  and  in  her  ingenuity  in  dealing  with  them. 
Her  two  days  with  James  had  given  her  an  under 
standing  of  the  case,  and  she  was  ready  with  new  de 
vices  for  his  relief. 

Agatha  finished  her  tea  and  joined  Mrs.  Stoddard 
as  she  stood  looking  out  into  the  twilight,  seeing 
things  not  visible  to  the  outward  eye. 


A   FIGHTING    CHANCE  241 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  she  ended  abruptly,  thinking 
aloud;  then  including  Agatha  without  any  change 
of  tone,  she  went  on:  "I  think  we'd  better  change 
our  plans  a  little.  I'm  going  up-stairs  now  to  stay 
while  your  Mr.  Hand  goes  over  to  the  house  for  me. 
There  are  several  things  I  want  from  home." 

Agatha  had  no  conception  of  having  an  opinion 
that  was  contrary  to  Mrs.  Stoddard's,  so  completely 
was  she  won  by  her  tower-like  strength. 

"You  know,  Mrs.  Stoddard,"  she  said  earnestly, 
"that  I  want  to  be  told  at  once,  if — if  there  is  any 
change." 

"I  know,  child,"  the  older  woman  replied,  with 
a  faraway  look.  "We  are  in  the  Lord's  hands.  He 
taketh  the  young  in  their  might,  and  He  healeth 
them  that  are  nigh  unto  death.  We  can  only  wait 
His  will." 

Agatha  was  the  product  of  a  different  age  and  a 
different  system  of  thought.  But  she  was  still  young, 
and  the  pressure  of  the  hour  revived  in  her  some 
ghost  of  her  Puritan  ancestral  faith,  longing  to  be 
come  a  reality  in  her  heart  again,  if  only  for  this  dire 
emergency.  She  turned,  eager  but  painfully  embar 
rassed,  to  Mrs.  Stoddard,  detaining  her  by  a  touch 
on  her  arm. 


242  [THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"But  you  said,  Mrs.  Stoddard,"  she  implored, 
"that  the  prayer  of  faith  shall  heal  the  sick.  And 
I  have  been  praying,  too ;  I  have  tried  to  summon  my 
faith.  Do  you  believe  that  it  counts — for  good?" 

Mrs.  Stoddard's  rapt  gaze  blessed  Agatha.  Her 
faith  and  courage  were  of  the  type  that  rise  accord 
ing  to  need.  She  drew  nearer  to  her  sanctuary,  to 
the  fountain  of  her  faith,  as  her  earthly  peril  waxed. 
Her  voice  rang  with  confidence  as  she  almost 
chanted :  "No  striving  toward  God  is  ever  lost,  dear 
child.  He  is  with  us  in  our  sorrow,  even  as  in  our 
joy."  Her  strong  hand  closed  over  Agatha's  for 
a  moment,  and  then  her  steady,  slow  steps  sounded 
on  the  stairs. 

Agatha  went  into  the  parlor,  whose  windows 
opened  upon  the  piazza,  and  from  there  wandered 
down  the  low  steps  to  the  lawn.  It  was  growing 
dusk,  a  still,  comfortable  evening.  Over  the  lawn 
lay  the  indescribable  freshness  of  a  region  sur 
rounded  by  many  trees  and  acres  of  grass.  Presently 
the  old  hound,  Danny,  came  slowly  from  his  kennel 
in  the  back  yard,  and  paced  the  grass  beside  Agatha, 
looking  up  often  with  melancholy  eyes  into  her  face. 
Here  was  a  living  relic  of  her  mother's  dead  friend, 
carrying  in  his  countenance  his  sorrow  for  his  de- 


A   FIGHTING   CHANCE  243 

parted  master.  Agatha  longed  to  comfort  him  a 
little,  convey  to  him  the  thought  that  she  would  love 
him  and  try  to  understand  his  nature,  now  that  his 
rightful  master  was  gone.  She  talked  softly  to  him, 
calling  him  to  her  but  not  touching  him.  Back  and 
forth  they  paced,  the  old  dog  following  closer  and 
closer  to  Agatha's  heels. 

Back  of  the  house  was  a  path  leading  diagonally 
across  to  the  wall  which  separated  Parson  Thayer's 
place  from  the  meeting-house.  The  dog  seemed  in 
tent  on  following  this  path.  Agatha  humored  him, 
climbed  the  low  stile  and  entered  the  churchyard. 
As  the  hound  leaped  the  stile  after  her,  he  wagged 
his  tail  and  appeared  almost  happy.  Agatha  re 
membered  that  Sallie  had  told  her,  on  the  day  of  her 
arrival,  of  the  dog,  and  how  he  was  accustomed  to 
walk  every  evening  with  his  master.  Doubtless  they 
sometimes  walked  here,  among  the  silent  company 
assembled  in  the  churchyard;  and  the  minister's 
silent  friend  was  now  having  the  peculiar  satisfac 
tion  of  doing  again  what  he  had  once  done  with  his 
master.  Thus  the  little  acre  of  the  dead  had  its 
claim  on  life,  and  its  happiness  for  throbbing  hearts. 

Agatha  called  the  old  dog  to  her  again.  This  time 
he  came  near,  rubbed  hard  against  her  dress,  and, 


244  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

when  she  sat  down  on  a  flat  tombstone,  laid  his  head 
comfortably  in  her  lap,  wagging  his  tail  in  satisfac 
tion. 

Danny  was  a  companion  who  did  not  obstruct 
thought,  but  encouraged  it;  and  as  Agatha  sat  rest 
ing  on  the  stone  with  Danny  close  by,  in  that  quiet 
yard  full  of  the  noiseless  ghosts  of  the  past,  her 
thoughts  went  back  to  James.  His  unnatural  eyes 
and  restless  spirit  haunted  her.  She  thought  of  that 
other  night  on  the  water,  full  of  heartbreaking  strug 
gle  as  it  was,  as  a  happy  night  compared  to  the  one 
which  was  yet  to  come.  She  recalled  their  foolish 
talk  while  they  were  on  the  beach,  and  smiled  sadly 
over  it.  Her  courage  was  at  the  ebb.  She  felt  that 
the  buoyancy  of  spirit  that  had  sustained  them  both 
during  the  night  of  struggle  could  never  revisit  the 
wasted  and  disorganized  body  lying  in  Parson  Thay- 
er's  house — her  house.  A  certain  practical  sense  that 
was  strong  in  her  rose  and  questioned  whether  she 
had  done  everything  that  could  be  done  for  his  wel 
fare.  She  thought  so.  Had  she  not  even  prayed, 
with  all  her  concentration  of  mind  and  will?  She 
heard  again  Susan  Stoddard's  deep  voice :  "No 
striving  toward  God  is  ever  lost !"  In  spite  of  her  un- 
faith,  a  sense  of  rest  in  a  power  larger  than  herself 


A   FIGHTING   CHANCE  245 

came  upon  her  unawares.  Danny,  who  had  wan 
dered  away,  came  back  and  sat  down  heavily  on 
the  edge  of  her  skirt,  close  to  her.  "Good  Danny!" 
she  praised,  petting  him  to  his  heart's  content. 

It  was  ftius  that  Aleck  Van  Camp  found  them,  as 
he  came  over  the  stile  from  the  house.  His  tones 
were  slower  and  more  precise  than  ever,  but  his  face 
was  drawn  and  marked  with  anxiety.  He  had  a 
careful  thought  for  Agatha,  even  in  the  face  of  his 
greater  trouble. 

"You  have  chosen  a  bad  hour  to  wander  about, 
Miss  Redmond.  The  evening  dews  are  heavy." 

"Yes,  I  know ;  Danny  and  I  were  just  going  home. 
Have  you  been  into  the  house  ?" 

"Yes,  I  left  Doctor  Thayer  there  in  consultation 
with  the  other  physician  that  came  to-day.  They 
sent  me  off.  Old  Jim — well,  you  know  as  well  as 
I  do.  With  your  permission,  I'm  going  to  stay  the 
night.  I'll  bunk  in  the  hall,  or  anywhere.  Don't 
think  of  a  bed  for  me;  I  don't  want  one." 

"I'm  glad  you'll  stay.  It  seems,  somehow,  as  if 
every  one  helps;  that  is,  every  one  who  cares  for 
him." 

"Doctor  Thayer  thinks  there  will  be  a  change  to 
night,  though  it  is  difficult  to  tell.  Jim's  family  have 


246  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

my  telegram  by  this  time,  and  they  will  get  my  letter 
to-morrow,  probably.  Anyway,  I  shall  wait  until 
morning  before  I  send  another  message." 

The  tension  of  their  thoughts  was  too  sharp ;  they 
turned  for  relief  to  the  scene  before  them,  stopping 
at  the  stile  to  look  back  at  the  steepled  white  church, 
standing  under  its  spreading  balm-of-Gilead  tree. 

"It  seems  strange,"  said  Agatha,  "to  think  that  I 
sat  out  there  under  that  big  tree  as  a  little  girl. 
Everything  is  so  different  now." 

"Ilion,  then,  was  once  your  home  ?" 

"No,  never  my  home,  though  it  was  once  my 
mother's  home.  I  used  to  visit  here  occasionally, 
years  and  years  ago." 

Aleck  produced  his  quizzical  grin.  "A  gallant 
person  would  protest  that  that  is  incredible." 

"I  wasn't  angling  for  gallantry,"  Agatha  replied 
wearily.  "I  am  twenty-six,  and  I  haven't  been  here 
certainly  since  I  was  eight  years  old.  Eighteen  years 
are  a  good  many." 

"To  youth,  yes,"  acquiesced  Aleck.  "Which  re 
minds  me,  by  contrast,  of  the  hermit;  he  was  so  in 
credibly  old.  It  was  he  who  unwittingly  put  me  on 
Jim's  track.  He  said  that  the  owner  or  proprietor  of 
the  Jeanne  D'Arc  was  dropped  ashore  on  his  island." 


A   FIGHTING   CHANCE  247 

"Monsieur  Chatelard?"  cried  Agatha. 

"I  don't  know  his  name." 

"If  it  was  Monsieur  Chatelard,"  Agatha  paused, 
looking  earnestly  at  Aleck,  "if  it  was  he,  it  is  the 
man  who  tricked  me  into  his  motor-car  in  New 
York,  drugged  me  and  carried  me  aboard  his  yacht 
while  I  was  unconscious." 

Aleck  turned  a  sharp,  though  not  unsympathetic, 
gaze  upon  Agatha.  "I  have  told  no  one  but  Doctor 
Thayer,  and  he  did  not  believe  me.  But  it  is  quite 
true ;  the  wreck  saved  me,  probably,  from  something 
worse,  though  I  don't  know  what." 

If  there  had  been  skepticism  on  Aleck's  face  for  an 
instant  it  had  disappeared.  Instead,  there  was  deep 
concern,  as  he  considered  the  case. 

"Had  you  ever  seen  the  man  Chatelard  before?" 

"Never  to  my  knowledge." 

"Did  he  visit  you  on  board  the  yacht  ?" 

"Only  once.  I  was  put  into  the  charge  of  an  old 
lady,  a  Frenchwoman,  Madame  Sofie;  evidently  a 
trusted  chaperon,  or  nurse,  or  something  like  that. 
.When  I  came  to  myself  in  a  very  luxurious  cabin  in 
the  yacht,  this  old  woman  was  talking  to  me  in 
French — a  strange  medley  that  I  could  make  nothing 
of.  When  I  was  better  she  questioned  me  about 


248  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

everything,  saying  (Mon  Dieul'  at  every  answer  I 
made.  Then  she  left  me  and  was  gone  a  long  time ; 
and  when  she  came  back,  that  man  was  with  her.  I 
learned  afterward  that  he  was  called  Monsieur 
Chatelard.  They  both  looked  at  me,  arguing  fiercely 
in  such  a  furious  French  that  I  could  not  understand 
more  than  half  they  said.  They  looked  as  if  they 
were  appraising  me,  like  an  article  for  sale,  but  Ma 
dame  Sofie  held  out  steadily,  on  some  point,  against 
Monsieur  Chatelard,  and  finally  it  appeared  that  she 
converted  him  to  her  own  point  of  view.  He  went 
away  very  angry,  and  I  did  not  see  him  again,  ex 
cept  at  a  distance,  until  the  night  of  the  wreck." 

"Did  you  find  out  where  they  were  going,  or 
who  was  back  of  their  scheme?" 

"No,  nothing;  or  very  little.  There  was  money 
involved.  I  could  tell  that.  But  no  names  were 
mentioned,  nor  any  places  that  I  can  remember. 
You  see,  I  was  ill  from  the  effects  of  the  chloroform, 
and  frightened,  too,  I  think." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Aleck,  wrinkling  his  home 
ly  face.  He  remained  silent  while  he  searched,  men 
tally,  for  a  clue. 

"I  found  out,  through  my  maid,  who  arrived  to 
day,  that  some  one  of  the  kidnapping  party  had  been 


A   FIGHTING   CHANCE  249 

clever  enough  to  send  a  false  message  to  the  hotel, 
explaining  my  sudden  departure." 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Aleck,  going  over  the  story  in 
his  mind.  And  presently,  "Where  does  Hand  come 
in?  And  how  did  Jim  happen  to  be  aboard  the 
Jeanne  UArc?" 

"Hand  was  some  sort  of  henchman  to  Monsieur 
Chatelard,  I  believe.  And  he  told  me  that  your 
cousin  was  picked  up  in  New  York  harbor,  swim 
ming  for  life,  it  appeared.  No  one  seemed  to  know 
any  more." 

Aleck  stopped  short,  looked  at  Agatha,  pursed  his 
lips  for  a  whistle  and  remained  silent.  They  had 
arrived  at  the  porch  steps,  and  were  tacitly  waiting 
for  the  doctors  to  descend  and  give  them,  if  possible, 
some  encouragement  for  the  coming  night.  But  the 
story  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  had  grown  more  compli 
cated  than  Aleck  had  anticipated,  and  much  was  yet 
to  be  explained.  Aleck  was  slow,  as  always,  in 
thinking  it  through,  but  he  figured  it  out,  finally,  to  a 
certain  point,  and  expressed  himself  thus:  "That's 
the  way  with  your  steady  fellows ;  they're  all  the  big 
ger  fools  when  they  do  jump." 

"Pardon  me,  I  didn't  catch — " 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Aleck,  half  irritably.    "I  only 


250  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

said  Jim  needed  a  poke,  like  that  heifer  over  in  the 
next  field." 

Agatha  understood  the  boyish  irritation,  cloaking 
the  love  of  the  man.  "You  may  be  able  to  get  more 
information  about  your  cousin  from  Mr.  Hand," 
she  said.  "He  would  be  likely  to  know  as  much  as 
anybody." 

"Well,  however  it  happened,  he's  here  now !" 

"Though  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  fearful  struggle 
for  me,  he  would  not  have  been  so  ill,"  said  Agatha 
miserably.  Aleck,  with  one  foot  on  the  low  step  of 
the  piazza,  stopped  and  turned  squarely  toward  her. 
His  face  was  no  less  miserable  than  Agatha's,  but 
behind  his  wretchedness  and  anxiety  was  some  mas 
culine  reserve  of  power,  and  a  longer  view  down  the 
corridors  of  time.  He  held  her  eye  with  a  look  of 
great  earnestness. 

"I  love  old  Jim,  Miss  Redmond.  We've  been 
boys  and  men  together,  and  good  fellows  always. 
But  don't  think  that  I'd  regret  his  struggle  for  you, 
as  you  call  it,  even  if  it  should  mean  the  worst.  He 
couldn't  have  done  otherwise,  and  I  wouldn't  have 
had  him.  And  if  it's  to  be  a — a  home  run — why, 
then,  Jim  would  like  that  far  better  than  to  die  of 


A   FIGHTING   CHANCE  251 

old  age  or  liver  complaint.  It's  all  right,  Miss  Red 
mond." 

Aleck's  slow  words  came  with  a  double  meaning 
to  Agatha.  She  heard,  through  them,  echoes  of 
James  Hambleton's  boyhood;  she  saw  a  picture  of 
his  straight  and  dauntless  youth.  She  held  out  to 
Aleck  a  hand  that  trembled,  but  her  face  shone  with 
gratitude. 

Aleck  took  her  hand  respectfully,  kindly,  in  his 
warm  grasp.  "Besides,"  he  said  simply,  "we  won't 
give  up.  He's  got  a  fighting  chance  yet." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

T IGHTS  in  a  country  house  at  night  are  often  the 
•*"•*  signal  of  birth  or  death,  sometimes  of  both.  The 
old  red  house  threw  its  beacon  from  almost  every 
window  that  night,  and  seemed  mutely  to  defy  the 
onslaught  of  enveloping  darkness,  whether  Plutonic 
or  Stygian.  Time  was  when  Parson  Thayer's  li 
brary  lamp  burned  nightly  into  the  little  hours,  and 
through  the  uncurtained  windows  the  churchyard 
ghosts,  had  they  wandered  that  way,  could  have  seen 
his  long  thin  form,  wrapped  in  a  paisley  cloth  dress 
ing-gown,  sitting  in  the  glow.  He  would  have  been 
reading  some  old  leather-bound  volume,  and  would 
have  remained  for  hours  almost  as  quiet  and  noise 
less  as  the  ghosts  themselves.  Now  he  had  stepped 
across  his  threshold  and  joined  them,  and  new  spirits 
had  come  to  burn  the  light  in  the  old  red  house. 

Agatha,  half -dressed,  had  slept,  and  woke  feeling 
that  the  night  must  be  far  advanced.    The  house  was 

252 


THE   TURN    OF   THE   TIDE        253 

very  still,  with  no  sound  or  echo  of  the  incoherent 
tones  which,  for  now  many  days,  had  come  from  the 
room  down  the  hall.  She  lit  a  candle,  and  the  sput 
tering  match  seemed  to  fill  the  house  with  noise. 
Her  clock  indicated  a  little  past  midnight.  It  was 
only  twenty  minutes  since  she  had  lain  down,  but 
she  was  wide  awake  and  refreshed.  While  she  was 
pinning  up  her  hair  in  a  big  mass  on  the  top  of  her 
head,  she  heard  in  the  hall  slow,  steady  steps,  firm 
but  not  heavy,  even  as  in  daytime.  Susan  Stoddard 
did  not  tiptoe. 

Agatha  was  at  the  door  before  she  could  knock. 

"You  had  better  come  for  a  few  minutes,"  Mrs. 
Stoddard  said.  The  tones  were,  in  themselves,  an 
adjuration  to  faith  and  fortitude. 

"Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  Agatha.  They  walked 
together  down  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  each  woman, 
in  her  own  way,  proving  how  strong  and  efficient  is 
the  discipline  of  self-control. 

In  the  sick-room  a  screen  shaded  the  light  from 
the  bed,  which  had  been  pulled  out  almost  into  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Near  the  bed  was  a  table  with 
bottles,  glasses,  a  covered  pitcher,  and  on  the  floor 
an  oxygen  tank.  Doctor  Thayer's  massive  figure 
was  in  the  shadow  close  to  the  bed,  and  Aleck  Van 


254  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Camp  leaned  over  the  curved  footboard.  James 
lay  on  his  pillow,  a  ghost  of  a  man,  still  as  death 
itself.  As  Agatha  grew  accustomed  to  the  light, 
she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  closed,  the  lips  under 
the  ragged  beard  were  drawn  and  slightly  parted; 
his  forehead  was  the  pallid  forehead  of  death-in-life. 
Neither  the  doctor  nor  Aleck  moved  or  turned  their 
gaze  from  the  bed  as  Agatha  and  Mrs.  Stoddard 
entered.  The  air  was  still,  and  the  profound  silence 
without  was  as  a  mighty  reservoir  for  the  silence 
within. 

Agatha  stood  by  the  footboard  beside  Aleck, 
while  Mrs.  Stoddard,  getting  a  warm  freestone 
from  the  invisible  Mr.  Hand  in  the  hall,  placed  it 
beneath  the  bedclothes.  Aleck  Van  Camp  dropped 
his  head,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands.  Agatha, 
watching,  by  and  by  saw  a  change  come  over 
the  sick  man's  face.  She  held  her  breath,  it  seemed, 
for  untold  minutes,  while  Doctor  Thayer  reached 
his  hand  to  the  patient's  heart  and  leaned  over  to 
observe  more  closely  his  face. 

"See!"  she  whispered  to  Aleck,  touching  his 
shoulder  lightly,  "he  is  looking  at  us."  When  Aleck 
looked  up  James  was  indeed  looking  at  them  with 
large,  serious,  half-focussed  eyes.  It  was  as  if  he 


THE   TURN   OF   THE   TIDE        255 

were  coming  bade  from  another  world  where  the 
laws  of  vision  were  different,  and  he  was  only  par 
tially  adjusted  to  the  present  conditions.  He  moved 
his  hands  feebly  under  the  bedclothes,  where  they 
were  being  warmed  by  the  freestone,  and  then  tried 
to  moisten  his  lips.  Agatha  took  a  glass  of  water 
from  the  table,  looked  about  for  a  napkin,  but,  see 
ing  none,  wet  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  placed 
them  gently  over  James's  lips.  His  eyes  followed 
her  at  first,  but  closed  for  an  instant  as  she  came 
near.  When  they  opened  again,  they  looked  more 
natural.  As  he  felt  the  comfort  of  the  water  on  his 
lips,  his  features  relaxed,  and  a  look  of  recognition 
illumined  his  face.  His  eyes  moved  from  Agatha 
to  Aleck,  who  was  now  bending  over  him,  and  back 
to  Agatha.  The  look  was  a  salute,  happy  and 
peaceful.  Then  his  eyes  closed  again. 

For  an  hour  Agatha  and  Aleck  kept  their  watch, 
almost  fearing  to  breathe.  Doctor  Thayer  worked, 
gave  quiet  orders,  tested  the  heartbeats,  let  no  move 
ment  or  symptom  go  unnoticed.  For  a  time  James 
kept  even  the  doctor  in  doubt  whether  he  was  slip 
ping  into  the  Great  Unknown  or  into  a  deep  and 
convalescent  sleep.  By  the  end  of  the  hour,  how 
ever,  Jimsy  had  decided  for  natural  sleep,  urged 


256  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

thereto,  perhaps,  by  that  unseen  playwright  who  had 
decreed  another  time  for  the  curtain ;  or  perhaps  he 
was  kept  by  Doctor  Thayer's  professional  persua 
sions,  in  defiance  of  the  prompter's  signal.  How 
ever  the  case,  the  heart  slowly  but  surely  began  to 
take  up  its  job  like  an  honest  force-pump,  the  face 
began  to  lose  its  death-like  pallor,  the  breathing  be 
came  more  nearly  normal.  Doctor  Thayer,  with 
Mrs.  Stoddard  quiet  and  efficient  at  his  elbow, 
worked  and  tested  and  worked  again,  and  finally 
sat  moveless  for  some  minutes,  watch  in  hand, 
counting  the  pulsations  of  James's  heart.  At  the 
end  of  the  time  he  laid  the  hand  carefully  back 
under  the  clothes,  put  his  watch  in  his  pocket,  and 
finally  got  up  and  looked  around  the  room. 

Mrs.  Stoddard  was  pouring  something  into  a 
measuring  glass.  Agatha  was  standing  by  the  win 
dow,  looking  out  into  the  blue  night;  and  Aleck 
could  be  seen  through  the  half-open  door,  pacing 
up  and  down  the  hall.  Doctor  Thayer  turned  to  his 
sister. 

"Give  him  his  medicine  on  the  half -hour,  and 
then  you  go  to  bed.  That  man  Hand  will  do  now." 
Then  he  went  to  the  door  and  addressed  Aleck. 
"Well,  Mr.  Van  Camp,  unless  something  unexpected 


THE   TURN    OF   THE    TIDE        257 

turns  up,  I  think  your  cousin  will  live  to  jump  over 
board  again." 

Offhand  as  the  words  were,  there  was  unmistak 
able  satisfaction,  happiness,  even  triumph  in  his 
voice,  and  he  returned  Aleck's  hand-clasp  with  a 
vise-like  grip.  His  masculinity  ignored  Agatha,  or 
pretended  to ;  but  she  had  followed  him  to  the  door. 
As  the  old  man  clasped  hands  with  Aleck,  he  heard 
behind  him  a  deep,  "O  Doctor!"  The  next  instant 
Agatha's  arms  were  around  his  neck,  and  the  back 
of  his  bald  head  was  pressed  against  something  that 
could  only  have  been  a  cheek.  Surprising  as  this 
was,  the  doctor  did  not  stampede ;  but  by  the  time  he 
had  got  clear  of  Aleck  and  had  reached  up  his  hand 
to  find  the  cheek,  it  was  gone,  and  the  arms,  too. 
Susan  Stoddard  somehow  got  mixed  up  in  the  gen 
eral  Te  Deum  in  the  hall,  and  for  the  first  time, 
now  that  the  fight  was  over,  allowed  her  feminine 
feelings — that  is,  a  few  tears — to  come  to  the  sur 
face. 

Aleck,  however,  went  to  pieces,  gone  down  in 
that  species  of  mental  collapse  by  which  deliberate, 
judicial  men  become  reckless,  and  strong  men  be 
come  weak.  He  stepped  softly  back  into  the  bed 
room  and  leaned  again  over  the  curved  footboard, 


258  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

his  face  quite  miserable.  He  went  nearer,  and  held 
his  ear  down  close  to  the  bedclothes,  to  hear  for 
himself  the  regular  beating  of  the  heart.  Slowly 
he  convinced  himself  that  the  doctor's  words  might 
possibly  be  true,  at  least.  He  turned  to  Hand,  who 
had  come  in  and  was  adjusting  the  shades,  and 
asked  him:  "Do  you  believe  he's  asleep?"  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  demands  an  oath. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir ;  he's  sleeping  nicely,  Mr.  Van  Camp. 
I  saw  the  change  the  moment  I  came  in." 

Aleck  still  hesitated  to  leave,  fearful,  apparently, 
lest  he  might  take  the  blessed  sleep  away  with  him. 
As  he  stood  by  the  bed,  a  low  but  distinct  whistle 
sounded  outside,  then,  after  a  moment's  interval, 
was  repeated.  Aleck  lifted  his  head  at  the  first 
signal,  took  another  look  at  James  and  one  at  Hand, 
then  light  as  a  cat  he  darted  from  the  room  and 
down  the  stairs,  leaving  the  house  through  one  of 
the  tall  windows  in  the  parlor.  Mr.  Chamberlain 
was  standing  near  the  lilac  bushes,  his  big  figure 
outlined  dimly  in  the  darkness. 

"Shut  up!"  Aleck  whispered  fiercely,  as  he  ran 
toward  him.  "He's  just  got  to  sleep,  Chamberlain ; 
gone  to  sleep,  like  a  baby.  Don't  make  an  infernal 
racket!" 


THE   TURN   OF   THE   TIDE        259 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know.  Didn't  mean  to  make  a 
racket,"  began  Chamberlain,  when  Aleck  plumped 
into  him  and  shook  him  by  the  shoulders. 

"He's  asleep — like  a  baby!"  he  reiterated.  And 
Chamberlain,  wise  comrade,  took  Aleck  by  the  arm 
and  tramped  him  off  over  the  hill  to  settle  his  nerves. 
They  walked  for  an  hour  arm  in  arm  over  the  road 
that  lay  like  a  gray  ribbon  before  them  in  the  night, 
winding  up  slantwise  along  the  rugged  country. 

Dawn  was  awake  on  the  hills  a  mile  away,  and  by 
and  by  Aleck  found  tongue  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
night,  which  was  good  for  him.  He  talked  fast  and 
unevenly,  and  even  extravagantly.  Chamberlain  lis 
tened  and  loved  his  friend  in  a  sympathy  that  spoke 
for  itself,  though  his  words  were  commonplace 
enough.  By  the  time  they  had  circled  the  five-mile 
road  and  were  near  the  house  again,  Aleck  was 
something  like  himself,  though  still  unusually  ex 
cited.  Chamberlain  mentioned  casually  that  Miss 
Reynier  had  been  anxious  about  him,  and  that  all 
his  friends  at  the  big  hotel  had  worried.  Finally,  he, 
Chamberlain,  had  set  out  for  the  old  red  house, 
thinking  he  could  possibly  be  of  service;  in  any 
case  glad  to  be  near  his  friend. 

"And,  by  the  way,"  Chamberlain  added,  "you  may 


260  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

be  interested  to  hear  that  accidentally  I  got  on  tHe 
track  of  that  beggar  who  ate  the  hermit's  eggs.  Took 
a  tramp  this  morning,  and  found  him  held  up  at  a 
kind  of  sailor's  inn,  waiting  for  money.  Grouchy  old 
party;  no  wonder  his  men  shipped  him." 

Aleck  at  first  took  but  feeble  interest  in  Chamber 
lain's  discoveries;  he  was  still  far  from  being  his 
precise,  judicial  self.  He  let  Chamberlain  talk  on, 
scarcely  noticing  what  he  said,  until  suddenly  the 
identity  of  the  man  whom  Chamberlain  was  describ 
ing  came  home  to  him.  Agatha's  story  flashed  back 
in  his  memory.  He  stopped  short  in  his  tracks,  halt 
ing  his  companion  with  a  stretched-out  forefinger. 

"Look  here,  Chamberlain,"  he  said,  "I've  been 
half  loony  and  didn't  take  in  what  you  said.  If 
that's  the  owner  or  proprietor  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc — 
a  man  known  as  Monsieur  Chatelard,  French  accent, 
blond,  above  medium  size,  prominent  white  teeth — 
we  want  him  right  away.  He  kidnapped  Miss  Red 
mond  in  New  York,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he 
kidnapped  old  Jim  and  stole  the  yacht  besides.  He's 
a  bad  one." 

Mr.  Chamberlain  had  the  air  of  humoring  a  luna 
tic.  "Well,  what's  to  be  done?  Is  it  a  case  for  the 
law  ?  Is  there  any  evidence  to  be  had  ?" 


THE   TURN    OF   THE   TIDE        261 

"Law!  Evidence!"  cried  Aleck.  "I  should  think 
so.  You  go  to  Big  Simon,  Chamberlain,  and  find 
out  who's  sheriff,  and  we'll  get  a  warrant  and  run 
him  down.  Heavens!  A  man  like  that  would  sell 
his  mother !" 

Chamberlain  looked  frankly  skeptical,  and  would 
not  budge  until  Aleck  had  related  every  circumstance 
that  he  knew  about  Agatha's  involuntary  flight  from 
New  York.  He  was  all  for  going  to  the  red  house 
and  interviewing  Agatha  herself,  but  Aleck  refused 
to  let  him  do  that 

"She's  worn  out  and  gone  to  bed;  you  can't  see 
her.  But  it's  straight,  you  take  my  word.  We  must 
catch  that  scoundrel  and  bring  him  here  for  identifi 
cation — to  be  sure  there's  no  mistake.  And  if  it  is 
he,  it'll  be  hot  enough  for  him." 

Chamberlain  doubted  whether  it  was  the  same 
man,  and  put  up  objections  seriatim  to  each  proposi 
tion  of  Aleck's,  but  finally  accepted  them  all.  He 
made  a  point,  however,  of  going  on  his  quest  alone. 

"You  go  back  to  the  red  house  and  go  to  bed,  and 
I'll  round  up  Eggs.  I  think  I  know  how  the  trick 
can  be  done." 

Aleck  was  stubborn  about  accompanying  Cham 
berlain,  but  the  Englishman  plainly  wouldn't  have  it. 


262  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

He  told  Aleck  he  could  do  it  better  alone,  and  led 
him  by  the  arm  back  to  the  old  red  house,  where  the 
kitchen  door  stood  hospitably  open.  Sallie  was  at 
work  in  her  pantry.  The  kettle  was  singing  on  the 
stove,  and  the  milk  had  already  come  from  a  neigh 
bor's  dairy. 

Sallie's  temper  may  not  have  been  ideal,  but  at 
least  she  was  not  of  those  who  are  grouchy  before 
breakfast.  She  served  Aleck  and  Chamberlain  in 
the  kitchen  with  homely  skill,  giving  them  both  a 
wholesome  and  pleasant  morning  after  their  night 
of  gloom. 

"You  can't  do  anything  right  all  day  if  you  start 
behindhand,"  she  replied  when  Aleck  remarked  upon 
her  early  rising.  "Besides,  I  was  up  last  night  more 
than  once,  watching  for  Miss  Redmond.  The  young 
man's  sleeping  nicely,  she  says." 

She  went  cheerfully  about  her  kitchen  work",  giv 
ing  the  men  her  best,  womanlike,  and  asking  nothing 
in  return,  not  even  attention.  They  took  her  service 
gratefully,  however,  and  there  was  enough  of  Eve 
in  Sallie  to  know  it. 

"By  the  way,  Chamberlain,"  said  Aleck,  "we  must 
get  a  telegram  off  to  the  family  in  Lynn."  He  wrote 
out  the  address  and  shoved  it  across  Sallie's  red 


THE   TURN    OF   THE   TIDE        263 

kitchen  tablecloth.  "And  tell  them  not  to  think  of 
coming!"  adjured  Aleck.  "We  don't  want  any  more 
of  a  swarry  here  than  we've  got  now."  Chamberlain 
undertook  to  send  the  message ;  and  since  he  had  con 
tracted  to  catch  the  criminal  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc, 
he  was  eager  to  be  off  on  his  hunt. 

"Good-by,  old  man.  You  go  to  bed  and  get  a 
good  sleep.  I'll  stop  at  the  hotel  and  leave  word  for 
Miss  Reynier.  And  you  stay  here,  so  I'll  know 
where  you  are.  I  may  want  to  find  you  quick,  if  I 
land  that  bloomin'  beggar." 

"Thanks,"  said  Aleck  weakly.  "I'll  turn  in  for 
an  hour  or  so,  if  Sallie  can  find  me  a  bed." 

Mr.  Chamberlain  made  several  notes  on  an  en 
velope  which  he  pulled  from  his  pocket,  gravely 
thanked  Sallie  for  her  breakfast  and  lifted  his  hat 
to  her  when  he  departed.  Aleck  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  was  stupidly  staring  at  the  stove  when  Sallie 
returned  from  a  journey  to  the  pump  in  the  yard. 

"You'll  like  to  take  a  little  rest,  Mr.  Van  Camp," 
she  said,  "and  I  know  just  the  place  where  you'll 
not  hear  a  sound  from  anywhere — if  you  don't  mind 
there  not  being  a  carpet.  I'll  go  up  right  away  and 
show  you  the  room  before  I  knead  out  my  bread." 
So  she  conducted  Aleck  to  a  big,  clean  attic  under  the 


264  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

rafters,  remote  and  quiet.  He  was  exhausted,  not 
from  lack  of  sleep — he  had  often  borne  many  hours 
of  wakefulness  and  hard  work  without  turning  a 
hair — but  from  the  jarring  of  a  live  nerve  through 
out  the  night  of  anxiety.  The  past,  and  the  rela 
tionships  of  youth  and  kindred  were  sacred  to  him, 
and  his  pain  had  overshadowed,  for  the  hour  at  least, 
even  the  newer  claims  of  his  love  for  Melanie  Rey- 
nier. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD 

A  GATHA'S  first  thought  on  awakening  late  in  the 
^-^-  forenoon,  was  the  memory  of  Sallie  Kings- 
bury  coaxing  her  to  bed  and  tucking  her  in,  in  the 
purple  light  of  the  early  morning.  She  remembered 
the  attention  with  pleasure  and  gratitude,  as  another 
blessing  added  to  the  greater  one  of  James  Hamble- 
ton's  turn  toward  recovery.  Sallie's  act  was  mute 
testimony  that  Agatha  was,  in  truth,  heir  to  Hercu 
les  Thayer's  estate,  spiritual  and  material. 

She  summoned  Lizzie,  and  while  she  was  dress 
ing,  laid  out  directions  for  the  day.  During  her  short 
stay  in  Ilion,  Lizzie  had  been  diligent  enough  in 
gathering  items  of  information,  but  nevertheless  she 
had  remained  oblivious  of  any  impending  crisis  dur 
ing  the  night.  Her  pompadour  was  marcelled  as 
accurately  as  if  she  were  expecting  a  morning  call 
from  Mr.  Straker.  No  rustlings  of  the  wings  of 
the  Angel  of  Death  had  disturbed  her  sleep.  In  fact, 

265 


266  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Lizzie  would  have  winked  knowingly  if  his  visit  had 
been  announced  to  her.  Her  sophistication  had  ban 
ished  such  superstitions.  She  noticed,  however,  that 
Agatha's  candles  had  burned  to  their  sockets,  and 
inquired  if  Miss  Redmond  had  been  wakeful. 

"Mr.  Hambleton  was  very  ill.  Everybody  in  the 
house  was  up  till  near  morning,"  replied  Agatha 
rather  tartly. 

"Oh,  what  a  pity!  Could  I  have  done  anything? 
I  never  heard  a  sound,"  cried  Lizzie  effusively. 

"No,  there  was  nothing  you  could  have  done," 
said  Agatha. 

"It's  very  bad  for  your  voice,  Miss  Redmond, 
staying  up  all  night,"  went  on  Lizzie  solicitously. 
"You're  quite  pale  this  morning.  And  with  your 
western  tour  ahead  of  you!" 

Agatha  let  these  adjurations  go  unanswered.  It 
occurred  to  Lizzie  that  possibly  she  had  allied  herself 
with  a  mistress  who  was  foolish  enough  to  ruin  her 
public  career  by  private  follies,  such  as  worrying 
about  sick  people.  Heaven,  in  Lizzie's  eyes,  was  the 
glare  of  publicity;  and  since  she  was  unable  to  shine 
in  it  herself,  she  loved  to  be  attached  to  somebody 
who  could.  Her  fidelity  was  based  on  Agatha's 
celebrity  as  a  singer.  She  would  have  preferred 


SPIRIT   OF   THE   ANCIENT   WOOD    267 

serving  an  actress  who  was  all  the  rage,  but  con 
sidered  a  popular  singer,  who  paid  liberally,  as  the 
next  best  thing. 

There  was  always  enough  common  sense  in  Liz 
zie's  remarks  to  make  some  impression,  even  on  a 
person  capable  of  the  folly  of  mourning  at  a  death 
bed.  Agatha's  spirits,  freshened  by  hope  and  the 
sleep  of  health,  rose  to  a  buoyancy  which  was  well 
able  to  deal  with  practical  questions.  She  quickly 
formed  a  plan  for  the  day,  though  she  was  wise 
enough  to  withhold  the  scheme  from  the  maid. 

Agatha  drank  her  coffee,  ate  sparingly  of  Sallie's 
toast,  and,  leaving  Lizzie  with  a  piece  of  sewing  to 
do,  went  first  to  James  Hambleton's  room.  After 
ten  minutes  or  so,  she  slowly  descended  the  stairs 
and  went  out  the  front  way.  She  circled  the  garden 
and  came  round  to  the  open  kitchen  door.  Sallie  was 
kneeling  before  her  oven,  inspecting  bread.  Agatha 
watched  her  while  she  tapped  the  bottom  of  the  tin, 
held  her  face  down  close  to  the  loaf,  and  finally  took 
the  whole  baking  out  of  the  oven  and  tipped  the  tins 
on  the  table. 

"That's  the  most  delicious  smell  that  ever  was !" 
said  Agatha. 

Sallie  jumped  up  and  pulled  her  apron  straight. 


268  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

"Lor',  Miss  Redmond,  how  you  scared  me! 
Couldn't  you  sleep  any  longer  ?" 

"I  didn't  want  to ;  I'm  as  good  as  new.  Tell  me, 
Sallie,  where  all  the  people  are.  Mr.  Hand  is  in  Mr. 
Hambleton's  room,  I  know,  but  where  are  the 
others?" 

"I  guess  they're  all  parceled  round,"  said  Sallie 
with  symptoms  of  sniffing.  "I  don't  wanter  com 
plain,  Miss  Redmond,  but  we  ain't  had  any  such  a 
houseful  since  Parson  Thayer's  last  conference  met 
here,  and  not  so  many  then;  only  three  ministers 
and  two  wives,  though,  of  course,  ministers  make 
more  work.  But  I  wouldn't  say  a  word,  Miss  Red 
mond,  about  the  work,  if  it  wasn't  for  that  young 
woman  that  puts  on  such  airs  coming  and  getting 
your  tray.  I  ain't  used  to  that." 

Sallie  paused,  like  any  good  orator,  while  her  main 
thesis  gained  impressiveness  from  silence.  It  was 
only  too  evident  that  her  feelings  were  hurt. 

Agatha  considered  the  matter,  but  before  replying 
came  farther  into  the  kitchen  and  touched  the  tip  of 
a  ringer  to  one  of  Sallie's  loaves,  lifting  it  to  show  its 
golden  brown  crust. 

"You're  an  expert  at  bread,  Sallie,  I  can  see  that," 
she  said  heartily.  "I  shouldn't  have  got  over  my 


SPIRIT    OF    THE   ANCIENT    WOOD    269 

accident  half  so  well  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  good 
food  and  your  care,  and  I  want  you  to  know  that  I 
appreciate  it."  She  was  reluctant  to  discuss  the 
maid,  but  her  cordial  liking  for  Sallie  counseled 
frankness.  "Don't  mind  about  Lizzie.  I  thought 
you  had  too  much  to  do,  and  that  she  might  just 
as  well  help  you,  but  if  she  bothers  you,  we  won't 
have  it.  And  now  tell  me  where  Mrs.  Stoddard  and 
the  others  are." 

Sallie's  symptoms  indicated  that  she  was  about  to 
be  propitiated ;  but  she  had  yet  a  desire  to  make  her 
position  clear  to  Miss  Redmond.  "It's  all  right ;  only 
I've  taken  care  of  the  china  for  seventeen  years,  and 
it  don't  seem  right  to  let  her  handle  it.  And  she  told 
me  herself  that  anybody  that  had  any  respect  for 
their  hands  wouldn't  do  kitchen  work.  And  if  her 
hands  are  too  good  for  kitchen  work,  I'm  sure  I  don't 
want  her  messing  round  here.  She  left  the  tea  on 
the  stove  till  it  boiled,  Miss  Redmond,  just  yester 
day." 

Agatha  smiled.  "I'm  sure  Lizzie  doesn't  know 
anything  about  cooking,  Sallie,  and  she  shall  not 
bother  you  any  more." 

Sallie  turned  a  rather  less  melancholy  face  toward 
Agatha.  "It's  been  fairly  lonesome  since  the  parson 


270  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

died.  I'm  glad  you've  come  to  the  red  house."  The 
words  came  from  Sallie's  lips  gruffly  and  ungra 
ciously,  but  Agatha  knew  that  they  were  sincere.  She 
knew  better,  however,  than  to  appear  to  notice  them. 
In  a  moment  Sallie  went  on :  "Mrs.  Stoddard,  she's 
asleep  in  the  front  spare  room.  Said  for  me  to  call 
her  at  twelve." 

"Poor  woman !   She  must  be  tired,"  said  Agatha. 

"Aunt  Susan's  a  stout  woman,  Miss  Redmond. 
She  didn't  go  to  bed  until  she'd  had  prayers  beside 
the  young  man's  bed,  with  Mr.  Hand  present.  I  had 
to  wait  with  the  coffee.  And  I  guess  Mr.  Hand  ain't 
very  much  used  to  our  ways,  for  when  Aunt  Susan 
had  made  a  prayer,  Mr.  Hand  said,  'Yes,  ma'am!' 
instead  of  Amen." 

There  was  a  mixture  of  disapprobation  and  grim 
humor  which  did  not  escape  Agatha.  She  was  again 
beguiled  into  a  smile,  though  Sallie  remained  grave 
as  a  tombstone. 

"Mr.  Hand  will  learn,"  said  Agatha;  and  was 
about  to  add  "Like  the  rest  of  us,"  but  thought  bet 
ter  of  it.  Sallie  took  up  her  tale. 

"Mr.  Van  Camp  and  his  friend  came  in  just  after 
I'd  put  you  to  bed,  Miss  Redmond,  and  ate  a  bite  of 
breakfast  right  offer  that  table;  and  'twas  a  mercy 


SPIRIT   OF   THE   ANCIENT   WOOD   271 

I'd  cleared  all  the  kulch  outer  the  attic,  as  I  did  last 
week,  for  Mr.  Van  Camp  he  wanted  a  place  to  sleep ; 
and  he's  up  there  now.  Used  to  be  a  whole  lot  er  the 
parson's  books  up  there;  but  I  put  them  on  a  shelf 
in  the  spare  room.  The  other  man  went  off  toward 
the  village." 

Agatha,  looking  about  the  pleasant  kitchen,  was 
tempted  to  linger.  Sallie's  conversation  yielded,  to 
the  discerning,  something  of  the  rich  essence  of  the 
past ;  and  Agatha  began  to  yearn  for  a  better  knowl 
edge  of  the  recluse  who  had  been  her  friend,  un 
known,  through  all  the  years.  But  she  remembered 
her  industrious  plans  for  the  day  and  postponed  her 
talk  with  Sallie. 

"I  remember  there  used  to  be  a  grove,  a  stretch  of 
wood,  somewhere  beyond  the  church,  Sallie.  Which 
way  is  it — along  the  path  that  goes  through  the 
churchyard  ?" 

"No,  this  way;  right  back  er  the  yard.  Parson 
Thayer  he  used  to  walk  that  way  quite  often."  Sal- 
lie  went  with  Agatha  to  another  stile  beyond  the 
churchyard,  and  pointed  over  the  pasture  to  a  fringe 
of  dark  trees  along  the  farther  border.  "Right  there 
by  that  apple  tree,  the  path  is.  But  don't  go  far,  Miss 
Redmond ;  the  woods  ain't  healthy." 


272  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"All  right,  Sallie;  thank  you.  I'll  not  stay  long." 
She  called  Danny  and  started  out  through  the  pas 
ture,  with  the  hound,  sober  and  dignified  and  happy, 
at  her  heels. 

The  wood  was  cool  and  dim,  with  an  uneven 
wagon  road  winding  in  and  out  between  stumps. 
Enormous  sugar-maples  reared  their  forms  here  and 
there ;  occasionally  a  lithe  birch  lifted  a  tossing  head ; 
and,  farther  within,  pines  shot  their  straight  trunks, 
arrow-like,  up  to  the  canopy  above. 

Farther  along,  the  road  widened  into  a  little  clear 
ing,  beyond  which  the  birch  and  maple  trees  gave 
place  entirely  to  pines  and  hemlocks.  The  under 
brush  disappeared,  and  a  brown  carpet  of  needles 
and  cones  spread  far  under  the  shade.  The  leafy 
rustle  of  the  deciduous  trees  ceased,  and  a  majestic 
stillness,  deeper  than  thought,  pervaded  the  place. 
At  the  clearing  just  within  this  deeper  wood  Agatha 
paused,  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  took  Danny's  head 
in  her  lap.  The  dog  looked  up  into  her  face  with 
the  wistful,  melancholy  gaze  of  his  kind,  inarticulate 
yet  eloquent. 

The  sun  was  nearly  at  zenith,  and  bright  flecks  of 
light  lay  here  and  there  over  the  brown  earth.  As 
Agatha  grew  accustomed  to  the  shade,  it  seemed 


SPIRIT    OF   THE   ANCIENT   WOOD    273 

pleasant  and  not  at  all  uncheerful — the  gaiety  of 
sunlight  subdued  only  to  a  softer  tone.  The  resolu 
tion  which  had  brought  her  thither  returned.  She 
stood  up  under  the  dome  of  pines  and  began  softly 
to  sing,  trying  her  voice  first  in  single  tones,  then  a 
scale  or  two,  a  trill.  At  first  her  voice  was  not  clear, 
but  as  she  continued  it  emerged  from  its  sheath  of 
huskiness  clear  and  flutelike,  and  liquid  as  the  notes 
of  the  thrushes  that  inhabited  the  wood.  The  pleas 
ure  of  the  exercise  grew,  and  presently,  warbling  her 
songs  there  in  the  otherwise  silent  forest,  Agatha 
became  conscious  of  a  strange  accompaniment. 
Pausing  a  moment,  she  perceived  that  the  grove  was 
vocal  with  tone  long  after  he'r  voice  had  ceased.  It 
was  not  exactly  an  echo,  but  a  slowly  receding 
resonance,  faint  duplications  and  multiplications  of 
her  voice,  gently  floating  into  the  thickness  of  the 
forest. 

Charmed,  like  a  child  who  discovers  some  curious 
phenomenon  of  nature,  Agatha  tried  her  voice  again 
and  again,  listening,  between  whiles,  to  the  ghostly 
tones  reverberating  among  the  pines.  She  sang  the 
slow  majestic  "Lascia  ch'io  pianga,"  which  has 
tested  every  singer's  voice  since  Handel  wrote  it; 
and  then,  curious,  she  tried  the  effect  of  the  aerial 


274  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

sounding-board  with  quick,  brilliant  runs  up  and 
down  the  full  range  of  the  voice.  But  the  effect  was 
more  beautiful  with  something  melodious  and  some 
what  slow ;  and  there  came  to  her  mind  an  old-fash 
ioned  song  which,  as  a  girl,  she  had  often  sung  with 
her  mother : 

"Oh !  that  we  two  were  maying 
Down  the  stream  of  the  soft  spring  breeze." 

She  sang  the  stanza  through,  softly,  walking  up 
and  down  among  the  pines.  Danny,  at  first,  walked 
up  and  down  beside  her  gravely,  and  then  lay  down 
in  the  middle  of  the  path,  keeping  an  eye  on  Agatha's 
movements.  Her  voice,  pitched  at  its  softest,  now 
seemed  to  be  infinitely  enlarged  without  being  made 
louder.  It  carried  far  in  among  the  trees,  clear  and 
soft  as  a  wave-ripple.  Entranced,  Agatha  began  the 
second  part  of  the  song,  just  for  the  joy  of  singing : 

"Oh !  that  we  two  sat  dreaming 
On  the  sward  of  some  sheep-trimmed  down — " 

when  suddenly,  from  the  distance,  another  voice 
took  up  the  strain.  Danny  was  instantly  up  and  off 
to  investigate,  but  presently  came  back  wagging  and 
begging  his  mistress  to  follow  him. 


SPIRIT    OF   THE   ANCIENT   WOOD    275 

In  spite  of  her  surprise  in  hearing  another  voice 
complete  the  duet,  Agatha  went  on  with  the  song, 
half  singing,  half  humming.  It  was  a  woman's 
voice  that  joined  hers,  singing  the  part  quite  ac 
cording  to  the  book : 

"With  our  limbs  at  rest  on  the  quiet  earth's  breast 
And  our  souls  at  home  with  God !" 

The  pine  canopy  spread  the  voices,  first  one  and 
then  the  other,  until  the  wood  was  like  a  vast  cathe 
dral  filled  with  the  softest  music  of  the  organ  pipes. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight  at  first,  but  as  Agatha 
followed  the  path,  she  presently  saw  a  white  arm 
and  skirt  projecting  from  behind  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 
Danny,  wagging  slowly,  appeared  to  wish  to  make 
friends,  and  before  Agatha  had  time  to  wonder,  the 
stranger  emerged  and  came  toward  her  with  out 
stretched  hand. 

"Ah,  forgive  me!  I  hid  and  then  startled  you; 
but  I  was  tempted  by  the  song.  And  this  forest  tem 
ple — isn't  it  wonderful  ?" 

Agatha  looked  at  the  stranger,  suddenly  wonder 
ing  if  she  were  not  some  familiar  but  half-forgot 
ten  acquaintance  of  years  agone.  She  was  a  beauti 
ful  dark  woman,  probably  two  or  three  years  older 


276  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

than  herself,  mature  and  self -poised  as  only  a  woman 
of  the  cosmopolitan  world  can  be.  It  might  be  that 
compared  to  her  Agatha  was  a  bit  crude  and  unfin 
ished,  with  the  years  of  her  full  blossoming  yet  to 
come.  She  had  no  words  at  the  moment,  and  the 
older  woman,  still  holding  Agatha's  hand,  explained. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  steal  in  upon  you;  but  as  I 
came  into  the  grove  I  heard  you  singing  Handel, 
and  I  couldn't  resist  listening.  Your  voice,  it  is 
wonderful!  Especially  here!"  As  she  looked  into 
Agatha's  face,  her  sincere  eyes  and  voice  gave  the 
praise  that  no  one  can  resist,  the  tribute  of  one 
artist  to  another. 

"This  is,  indeed,  a  beautiful  hall.  I  found  it  out 
just  now  by  accident,  when  I  came  up  here  to  prac 
tice  and  see  if  I  had  any  voice  left,"  said  Agatha. 
She  paused,  as  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  the 
visitor  might  be  James  Hambleton's  sister  and  that 
she  was  being  delinquent  as  a  hostess.  "But  come 
back  to  the  house,"  she  said.  "This  is  not  a  hospi 
table  place,  exactly,  to  receive  a  guest." 

The  stranger  laughed  gently.  "Have  you  guessed 
who  I  am,  then  ?  No  ?  Well,  you  see  I  had  the  ad 
vantage  of  you  from  the  first.  You  are  Miss  Red 
mond,  and  I  followed  you  here  from  the  house, 


SPIRIT   OF   THE   ANCIENT   WOOD    277 

where  your  servant  gave  me  the  directions.  I  am 
Miss  Reynier,  Melanie  Reynier,  and  I  am  staying 
at  the  Hillside.  Mr.  Van  Camp — "  and  to  her  own 
great  surprise,  Melanie  blushed  crimson  at  this 
point — "that  is,  we,  my  aunt  and  I,  were  Mr.  Van 
Camp's  guests  on  board  the  Sea  Gull.  When  he 
heard  of  the  wreck  of  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  we  put  in  to 
Charlesport;  though  he  has  probably  explained  all 
this  to  you.  It  was  such  a  relief  and  pleasure  to 
Mr.  Van  Camp  to  find  his  cousin,  ill  as  he  was ;  for 
he  had  feared  the  worst." 

Agatha  had  not  heard  Miss  Reynier's  name  be 
fore,  but  she  knew  vaguely  that  Mr.  Van  Camp  had 
been  with  a  yachting  party  when  he  arrived  at 
Charlesport.  Now  that  she  was  face  to  face  with 
Miss  Reynier,  a  keen  liking  and  interest,  a  quick 
confidence,  rose  in  her  heart  for  her. 

"Then  perhaps  you  know  Mr.  Hambleton,"  said 
Agatha  impulsively.  "The  fever  turned  last  night. 
Were  you  told  that  he  is  better?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  him,"  said  Melanie,  shaking 
her  head.  "Nevertheless,  I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear 
that  he  is  better.  Much  better,  they  said  at  the 
house." 

They  had  been  standing  at  the  place  where  Agatha 


278  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

had  first  discovered  her  visitor,  but  now  they  turned 
back  into  the  clearing. 

"Come  and  try  the  organ  pipes  again,"  she  begged. 
They  walked  about  the  wood,  singing  first  one  strain 
and  then  another,  testing  the  curiously  beautiful 
properties  of  the  pine  dome.  They  were  quickly  on 
a  footing  of  friendliness.  It  was  evident  that  each 
was  capable  of  laying  aside  formality,  when  she 
wished  to  do  so,  and  each  was,  at  heart,  frank  and 
sincere.  Melanie's  talent  for  song  was  not  small, 
yet  she  recognized  in  Agatha  a  superior  gift;  while, 
to  Agatha,  Melanie  Reynier  seemed  increasingly 
mature,  polished,  full  of  charm. 

They  left  the  wood  and  wandered  back  through 
the  pasture  and  over  the  stile,  each  learning  many 
things  in  regard  to  the  other.  They  spoke  of  the 
place  and  its  beauty,  and  Agatha  told  Melanie  of 
the  childhood  memories  which,  for  the  first  time, 
she  had  revived  in  their  living  background. 

"How  our  thoughts  change!"  she  said  at  last. 
"As  a  child,  I  never  felt  this  farm  to  be  lonely;  it 
was  the  most  populous  and  entertaining  place  in  all 
the  world.  I  much  preferred  the  wood  to  anything 
in  the  city.  I  love  it  now,  too;  but  it  seems  the  es 
sence  of  solitude  to  me." 


SPIRIT    OF   THE   ANCIENT    WOOD    279 

"That  is  because  you  have  been  where  the  pas 
sions  and  restlessness  of  men  have  centered.  One  is 
never  the  same  after  that." 

"Strangely  enough,  the  place  now  belongs  to  me," 
went  on  Agatha.  "Parson  Thayer,  the  former 
owner  and  resident,  was  my  mother's  guardian  and 
friend,  and  left  the  place  to  me  for  her  sake." 

"Ah,  that  is  well!"  cried  Melanie.  "It  will  be 
your  castle  of  retreat,  your  Sans-Souci,  for  all  your 
life.  I  envy  you!  It  is  charming.  Pastor — Parson, 
do  you  say? — Parson  Thayer  was  a  man  of  judg 
ment." 

"Yes,  and  a  man  of  strange  and  dominating  per 
sonality,  in  his  way.  Everything  about  the  house 
speaks  of  him  and  his  tastes.  Even  Danny  here 
follows  me,  I  really  believe,  because  I  am  beginning 
to  appreciate  his  former  master." 

Agatha  stooped  and  patted  the  dog's  head.  Youth 
and  health,  helped  by  the  sympathy  of  a  friend,  were 
working  wonders  in  Agatha.  She  beamed  with 
happiness. 

"Come  into  the  house,"  she  begged  Melanie,  "and 
look  at  some  of  his  books  with  me.  But  first  we'll 
find  Sallie  and  get  luncheon,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Van 
Camp  will  appear  by  that  time.  Poor  man,  he  was 


280  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

quite  worn  out.  Then  you  shall  see  Parson  THayer's 
books  and  flowers,  if  you  will." 

They  strolled  over  the  velvet  lawn  toward  the 
front  of  the  house,  where  the  door  and  the  long 
windows  stood  open.  Down  by  the  road,  and  close 
to  the  lilac  bushes  that  flanked  the  gateway,  stood 
a  large  silver-white  automobile — evidently  Miss 
Reynier's  conveyance.  The  driver  of  the  machine 
had  disappeared. 

"I  mustn't  trespass  on  your  kindness  for  luncheon 
to-day,  thank  you,"  Melanie  was  saying;  "but  I'll 
come  again  soon,  if  I  may."  Meantime  she  was 
moving  slowly  down  the  walk.  But  Agatha  would 
not  have  it  so.  She  clung  to  this  woman  friend  with 
an  unwonted  eagerness,  begging  her  to  stay. 

"We  are  quite  alone,  and  we  have  been  so  miser 
able  over  Mr.  Hambleton's  illness,"  she  pleaded 
quite  illogically.  "Do  stay  and  cheer  us  up!" 

And  so  Melanie  was  persuaded;  easily,  too,  ex 
cept  for  her  compunctions  about  abusing  the  hospi 
tality  of  a  household  whose  first  care  must  neces 
sarily  be  for  the  sick. 

"I  want  to  stay,"  she  said  frankly.  "The  house 
breathes  the  very  air  of  restfulness  itself;  and  I 
haven't  seen  the  garden  at  all!"  She  walked  back 


SPIRIT    OF   THE   ANCIENT    WOOD    281 

over  the  lawn,  looked  admiringly  out  toward  the 
garden,  with  its  purple  and  yellow  flowers,  then 
gazed  into  the  lofty  thicket  above  her  head,  where 
the  high  elm  spread  its  century-old  branches. 
Agatha,  standing  a  little  apart  and  looking  at  Me- 
lanie,  was  again  struck  by  some  haunting  familiarity 
about  her  face  and  figure.  She  wondered  where  she 
could  have  seen  Miss  Reynier  before. 

Aleck  Van  Camp,  appearing  round  the  corner  of 
the  house,  made  elaborate  bows  to  the  two  ladies, 
i  "Good  morning,  Miss  Redmond!"  He  greeted 
her  cordially,  plainly  glad  to  see  her.  "I  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  blest  up  there  in  your  fragrant  loft. 
Good  morning,  Miss  Reynier!"  He  walked  over  and 
formally  took  Melanie's  hand  for  an  instant.  "I 
knew  it  was  decreed  that  you  two  should  be  friends," 
he  went  on,  in  his  deliberate  way.  "In  fact,  I've 
been  waiting  for  the  moment  when  I  could  have  the 
pleasure  of  introducing  you  myself,  and  here  you 
have  managed  to  dispense  with  my  services  alto 
gether.  But  let  me  escort  you  into  the  house.  Sallie 
says  her  raised  biscuits  are  all  ready  for  luncheon." 

Agatha,  looking  at  her  new  friend's  vivid  face, 
saw  that  Mr.  Van  Camp  was  not  an  unwelcome  ad 
dition  to  their  number.  She  had  a  quick  supersti- 


282  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

tious  feeling  of  happiness  at  the  thought  that  the 
old  red  house,  gathering  elements  of  joy  about  its 
roof,  was  her  possession  and  her  home. 

"I've  promised  to  show  Miss  Reynier  some  queer 
old  books  after  luncheon,"  she  said. 

Aleck  wrinkled  his  brow.  "I'll  try  not  to  be 
jealous  of  them." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MR.    CHAMBERLAIN,    SLEUTH 

T  TNBEKNOWN  to  himself,  Mr.  Chamberlain 
***  possessed  the  soul  of  a  conspirator.  Leaving 
Aleck  Van  Camp  at  the  crisp  edge  of  the  day,  he 
fell  into  deep  thought  as  he  walked  toward  the  vil 
lage.  As  he  reviewed  the  information  he  had  re 
ceived,  he  came  more  and  more  to  adopt  Agatha's 
cause  as  his  own,  and  his  spirit  was  fanned  into  the 
glow  incident  to  the  chase. 

He  walked  briskly  over  the  country  road,  de 
scended  the  steep  hill,  turning  over  the  facts,  as  he 
knew  them,  in  his  mind.  By  the  time  he  reached 
Charlesport,  he  regarded  his  honor  as  a  gentleman 
involved  in  the  capture  of  the  Frenchman.  His 
knowledge  of  the  methods  of  legal  prosecutions, 
even  in  his  own  country,  was  extremely  hazy.  He 
had  never  been  in  a  situation,  in  his  hitherto  peace 
ful  career,  in  which  it  had  been  necessary  to  appeal 
to  the  law,  either  on  his  own  behalf  or  on  that  of  his 
friends. 

283 


284  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

Legal  processes  in  America  were  even  less  known 
to  him,  but  he  was  not  daunted  on  that  account.  He 
remembered  Sherlock  Holmes  and  Raffles;  he  re 
called  Bill  Sykes  and  Dubosc,  dodging  the  opera 
tions  of  justice;  and  in  that  romantic  chamber  that 
lurks  somewhere  in  every  man's  make-up,  he  felt 
that  classic  tradition  had  armed  him  with  all  the 
preparation  necessary  for  heroic  achievement.  He, 
Chamberlain,  was  unexpectedly  called  upon  to  act 
as  an  agent  of  justice  against  chicanery  and  violence, 
and  it  was  not  in  him  to  shirk  the  task.  His  labors, 
which,  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  had  been  ex 
pended  in  tracing  the  evolution  of  blind  fish  in  inland 
caves,  had  not  especially  fitted  him  for  dealing  with 
the  details  of  such  a  case  as  Agatha's ;  but  they  had 
left  him  eminently  well  equipped  for  discerning 
right  principles  and  embracing  them. 

Chamberlain's  first  move  was  to  visit  Big  Simon, 
who  directed  him  to  the  house  of  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  Israel  Cady.  Squire  Cady,  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  wearing  an  old  faded  silk  hat,  was  in  his  side 
yard  endeavoring  to  coax  the  fruit  down  gently 
from  a  flourishing  pear  tree. 

"You  wait  just  a  minute,  if  you  please,  until  I 
get  these  two  plump  pears  down,  and  I'll  be  right 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      285 

there,"  he  called  courteously,  without  looking  away; 
from  his  long-handled  wire  scoop. 

Mr.  Chamberlain  strolled  into  the  yard,  and  after 
watching  Squire  Cady's  exertions  for  a  minute  or 
two,  offered  to  wield  the  pole  himself. 

"Takes  a  pru-uty  steady  hand  to  get  those  big 
ones  off  without  bruising  them,"  cautioned  the 
squire. 

But  Chamberlain's  hand  was  steadiness  itself,  and 
his  eyesight  much  keener  than  the  old  man's.  The 
result  was  highly  satisfactory.  No  less  than  a  dozen 
ripe  pears  were  twitched  off,  just  in  the  nick  of  time, 
so  far  as  the  eater  was  concerned. 

"Well,  thank  you,  sir;  thank  you,"  said  Squire 
Cady.  "That  just  goes  to  show  what  the  younger 
generation  can  do.  Now  then,  let's  see.  Got  any 
pockets  ?" 

He  picked  out  six  of  the  best  pears  and  piled  them 
in  Chamberlain's  hands,  then  took  off  his  rusty, 
old-fashioned  hat  and  filled  it  with  the  rest  of  the 
fruit.  Chamberlain  carefully  stowed  his  treasures 
into  the  wide  pockets  of  his  tweed  suit. 

"Now,  sir,"  Squire  Cady  said  heartily,  "we'll  go 
into  my  office  and  attend  to  business.  I'm  not  equal 
to  Cincinnatus,  whom  they  found  plowing  his  field, 


286  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

but  I  can  take  care  of  my  garden.  Come  in,  sir, 
come  in." 

Chamberlain  followed  the  tall  spare  old  figure 
into  the  house.  The  squire  disappeared  with  his 
pears,  leaving  his  visitor  in  the  narrow  hall ;  but  he 
returned  in  a  moment  and  led  the  way  into  his  of 
fice.  It  was  a  large,  rag-carpeted  room,  filled  with 
all  those  worsted  knickknacks  which  women  make, 
and  littered  comfortably  with  books  and  papers. 

Squire  Cady  put  on  a  flowered  dressing-gown, 
drew  a  pair  of  spectacles  out  of  a  pocket,  a  ban 
dana  handkerchief  from  another,  and  requested 
Chamberlain  to  sit  down  and  make  himself  at  home. 
The  two  men  sat  facing  each  other  near  a  tall  secre 
tary  whose  pigeonholes  were  stuffed  with  papers  in 
all  stages  of  the  yellowing  process.  Squire  Cady's 
face  was  yellowing,  like  his  papers,  and  it  was  wrin 
kled  and  careworn;  but  his  eyes  were  bright  and 
humorous,  and  his  voice  pleasant.  Chamberlain 
thought  he  liked  him. 

"Come  to  get  a  marriage  license?"  the  squire  in 
quired.  Chamberlain  immediately  decided  that  he 
didn't  like  him,  but  he  foolishly  blushed. 

"No,  it's  another  sort  of  matter,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"Not  a  marriage  license!    All  right,  my  boy," 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      287 

agreed  Squire  Cady.  "  Tisn't  the  fashion  to  marry 
young  nowadays,  I  know,  though  'twas  the  fashion 
in  my  day.  Not  a  wedding!  What  then?" 

Then  Chamberlain  set  to  work  to  tell  his  story. 
Placed,  as  it  were,  face  to  face  with  the  law,  he 
realized  that  he  was  but  poorly  equipped  for  carry 
ing  on  actual  proceedings,  even  though  they  might 
be  against  Belial  himself;  but  he  made  a  good  front 
and  persuaded  Squire  Cady  that  there  was  some 
thing  to  be  done.  The  squire  was  visibly  affected  at 
the  mention  of  the  old  red  house,  and  fell  into  a 
revery,  looking  off  toward  the  fields  and  tapping  his 
spectacles  on  the  desk. 

"Hercules  Thayer  and  I  read  Latin  together  when 
we  were  boys,"  he  said,  turning  to  Chamberlain  with 
a  reminiscent  smile  on  his  old  face.  "And  he  licked 
me  for  liking  Hannibal  better  than  Scipio."  He 
laughed  heartily. 

The  faces  of  the  old  sometimes  become  like  pic 
tured  parchments,  and  seem  to  be  lighted  from  with 
in  by  a  faint,  steady  gleam,  almost  more  beautiful 
than  the  fire  of  youth.  As  Chamberlain  looked,  he 
decided  once  more,  and  finally,  that  he  liked  Squire 
Cady. 

"But  I  got  even  with  Hercules  on  Horace,"  the 


288  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

squire  went  on,  chuckling  at  his  memories.  "How 
ever,"  he  sighed,  as  he  turned  toward  his  desk  again, 
"this  isn't  getting  out  that  warrant  for  you.  We 
don't  want  any  malefactors  loose  about  Charlesport; 
but  you'll  have  to  be  sure  you  know  what  you're  do 
ing.  Do  you  know  the  man — can  you  identify  him  ?" 

"I  think  I  should  know  him ;  but  in  any  case  Miss 
Redmond  at  the  old  red  house  can  identify  him." 

"We  don't  want  to  arrest  anybody  till  we're  sure 
we  know  what  we're  about — that's  poor  law,"  said 
Squire  Cady,  in  a  pedagogical  and  squire-ish  tone, 
as  if  Chamberlain  were  a  mere  boy.  But  the  English 
man  didn't  mind  that. 

"I  think  I  can  satisfy  you  that  we've  got  the  right 
man,"  he  answered.  "If  I  find  him  and  bring  him  to 
the  old  red  house  this  afternoon,  so  that  Miss  Red 
mond  can  identify  him,  will  you  have  a  sheriff  ready 
to  serve  the  warrant?" 

"Yes,  I  can  do  that." 

"Very  well,  then,  and  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Cham 
berlain,  moving  toward  the  door.  "And  I'm  keen 
on  hearing  how  you  got  even  with  Mr.  Thayer  on 
the  Horace." 

The  light  behind  the  squire's  parchment  face 
gleamed  a  moment. 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      289 

"Come  back,  my  boy,  when  you've  done  your  duty 
by  the  law.  Every  citizen  should  be  a  protector  as 
well  as  a  keeper  of  the  law.  So  come  again;  the 
latch-string  is  always  out." 

It  was  mid-morning  before  the  details  connected 
with  the  sheriff  were  completed.  By  this  time  Cham 
berlain's  heavy  but  sound  temperament  had  lifted 
itself  to  its  task,  gaining  momentum  as  the  hours 
went  by.  His  next  step  was  to  search  out  the  French 
man.  The  meager  information  obtained  the  day 
•before  was  to  the  effect  that  the  marooned  yacht- 
owner  had  taken  refuge  in  one  of  the  shacks  near 
the  granite  docks  in  the  upper  part  of  the  village. 
He  had  persuaded  the  caretaker  of  the  Sailors'  Read 
ing-room  to  lend  him  money  with  which  to  tele 
graph  to  New,  York,  as  the  telegraph  operator  had 
refused  to  trust  him. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  get  on  his  trade,  even  tfiougH 
the  village  people  were  constitutionally  reluctant  to 
let  any  unnecessary  information  get  away  from  them. 
A  mile  or  so  farther  up  the  shore,  beyond  the  road 
that  ran  like  a  scar  across  the  hill  to  the  granite 
quarry,  Chamberlain  came  upon  a  saloon  masquerad 
ing  as  a  grocery  store.  A  lodging  house,  a  seaman's 
Bethel  and  the  Reading-room  were  grouped  near  by ; 


290  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

the  telegraph  office,  too,  had  been  placed  at  this  end 
of  the  town ;  obviously  for  the  convenience  of  the  op 
erators  of  the  granite  quarry.  The  settlement  had  the 
appearance  of  easy-going  and  pleasant  industry  pe 
culiar  to  places  where  handwork  is  still  the  rule. 

Chamberlain  applied  first  at  the  grocery  store 
without  getting  satisfaction.  The  foreign  looking 
boy,  who  was  the  only  person  visible,  could  give 
him  no  information  about  anything.  But  at  the 
Reading-room  the  erstwhile  yacht-owner  was  known. 
Borrowing  money  is  a  sure  method  of  impressing 
one's  personality. 

The  Frenchman  had  been  in  the  neighborhood  two 
or  three  days,  latterly  becoming  very  impatient  for 
a  reply  to  his  New  York  telegram.  A  good  deal  of 
money  had  been  applied  for,  was  the  opinion  of  the 
money-lender.  This  person,  caretaker  and  librarian, 
was  a  tall,  ineffective  individual,  with  eyes  set  wide 
apart.  His  slow  speech  was  a  mixture  of  Doctor 
Johnson  and  a  judge  in  chancery.  It  was  grandilo 
quent,  and  it  often  took  long  to  reach  the  point.  He 
informed  Chamberlain,  with  some  circumlocution, 
that  the  Frenchman  had  been  extremely  anxious  over 
the  telegram. 

"I  tried  to  persuade  him  that  it  was  useless  to 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      291 

be  impatient  over  such  things,"  said  he.  "And  I  re 
gret  to  say  that  the  man  allowed  himself  to  become 
profane." 

"I  dare  say." 

"But  it  would  appear  that  he  has  received  his  tele 
gram  by  this  time,"  continued  the  youth,  "for  it  is 
now  but  a  short  time  since  he  was  summoned  to  the 
station." 

Chamberlain,  thinking  that  the  sooner  he  got  to 
the  telegraph  station  the  better,  was  about  to  depart, 
when  the  placid  tones  of  the  librarian  again  casually 
broke  the  silence. 

"If  I  mistake  not,  the  gentleman  in  question  is 
even  now  hastening  toward  the  village."  He  waved 
a  vague  hand  toward  the  open  door  through  which,  a 
little  distance  away,  a  man's  figure  could  be  seen. 

"Why  don't  you  run  after  him  and  get  your 
money?"  asked  Chamberlain;  but  he  didn't  know 
the  youth. 

"What  good  would  that  do?"  was  tHe  surprising 
question,  which  Chamberlain  could  not  answer. 

But  the  Englishman  acted  on  a  different  principle. 
He  thanked  the  judge  in  chancery  and  made  after 
the  Frenchman,  who  was  casting  a  furtive  eye  in 
this  and  that  direction,  as  if  in  doubt  which  way  he 


292  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

ought  to  go.  Nevertheless,  he  seemed  bent  on  going, 
and  not  too  slowly,  either. 

The  Englishman  swung  into  the  road,  but  did  not 
endeavor  to  overtake  the  other.  They  were  travel 
ing  toward  the  main  village,  along  a  road  that  more 
or  less  hugged  the  shore.  Sometimes  it  topped  a 
cliff  that  dropped  precipitately  into  the  water ;  and 
again  it  descended  to  a  sandy  level  that  was  occa 
sionally  reached  by  the  higher  tides. 

Near  the  main  village  the  road  ascended  a  rather 
steep  bluff,  and  at  the  top  made  a  sudden  turn 
toward  the  town.  As  Chamberlain  approached  this 
point,  he  yielded  more  and  more  to  the  beauty  of 
the  scene.  The  Bay  of  Charlesport,  the  rugged, 
curving  outline  of  the  coast  beyond,  the  green 
islands,  the  glistening  sea,  the  blue  crystalline  sky 
over  all — it  was  a  sight  to  remember. 

Not  far  from  the  land,  at  the  near  end  of  the  har 
bor,  was  the  Sea  Gull,  pulling  at  her  mooring.  A 
stone's  throw  beyond  Chamberlain's  feet,  a  small 
rocky  tongue  of  land  was  prolonged  by  a  stone 
breakwater,  which  sheltered  the  curved  beach  of  the 
village  from  the  rougher  waves.  Close  up  under  the 
bluff  on  which  he  was  standing,  the  waters  of  the 
bay  churned  and  foamed  against  a  steep  rock-wall 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      293 

that  shot  downward  to  unknown  depths.  It  was  ob 
viously  a  dangerous  place,  though  the  road  was  un 
guarded  by  fence  or  railing.  Only  a  delicate  fringe 
of  goldenrod  and  low  juniper  bushes  veiled  the 
treacherous  cliff  edge.  It  was  almost  impossible  for 
a  traveler,  unused  to  the  region,  to  pass  across  the 
dizzy  stretch  of  highway  without  a  shuddering 
glance  at  the  murderous  waves  below. 

On  the  crest  of  this  cliff,  each  of  the  two  men 
paused,  one  following  the  other  at  a  little  distance. 
The  first  man,  however,  paused  merely  for  a  few 
minutes'  rest  after  the  steep  climb.  Chamberlain, 
hardened  to  physical  exertions,  took  the  hill  easily, 
but  stood  for  a  moment  lost  in  speculative  wonder 
at  the  scene.  He  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  his  leader,  how 
ever  ;  and  presently  the  two  men  took  up  their  Indian 
file  again  toward  the  village. 

Some  distance  farther  on,  the  road  forked,  one 
spur  leading  up  over  the  steep  rugged  hill,  another 
dropping  abruptly  to  the  main  village  street  and  the 
wharves.  A  third^  branch  ran  low  athwart  the  hill 
and  led,  finally,  to  the  summer  hotel  where  Chamber 
lain  and  the  Reyniers  had  been  staying.  At  this 
division  of  the  road  Chamberlain  saw  the  other  man 
ahead  of  him  sitting  on  a  stone.  He  approached 


294  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

him  leisurely  and  assumed  an  air  of  business  sa 
gacity. 

"Good  day,  sir/'  said  Chamberlain,  planting  him 
self  solidly  before  the  man  on  the  stone.  He  was 
rather  large,  blond,  pale  and  unkempt  in  appearance ; 
but  nevertheless  he  carried  an  air  of  insolent  mock 
ery,  it  seemed  to  Chamberlain.  He  glanced  disgust 
edly  at  the  Englishman,  but  did  not  reply. 

"Rather  warm  day,"  remarked  Chamberlain  pleas 
antly.  No  answer.  The  man  sat  with  his  head 
propped  on  his  hands,  unmistakably  in  a  bad  temper. 

"Want  to  buy  some  land?"  inquired  Chamber 
lain.  "I'm  selling  off  lots  on  this  hill  for  summer 
cottages.  Water  front,  dock  privileges,  and  a  guar 
anty  that  no  one  shall  build  where  it  will  shut  off 
your  view.  Terms  reasonable.  Like  to  buy  ?" 

"Non!"  snarled  the  other. 

Chamberlain  paused  in  his  imaginative  flight,  and 
took  two  luscious  yellow  pears  from  his  bulging 
pockets. 

"Have  a  pear?"  he  pleasantly  offered. 

The  man  again  looked  up,  as  if  tempted,  but  again 
ejaculated  "Non!" 

Chamberlain  leisurely  took  a  satisfying  bite. 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      295 

"I  get  tired  myself,"  he  went  on,  "tramping  over 
these  country  roads.  But  it's  the  best  way  for  me 
to  do  business.  You  don't  happen  to  want  a  good 
hotel,  do  you?" 

Coarse  fare  and  the  discomforts  of  beggaVs'  lodg 
ings  had  told  on  the  Frenchman's  temper,  as  Cham 
berlain  had  surmised.  He  looked  up  with  a  show  of 
human  interest.  Chamberlain  went  on. 

"There's  a  fine  hotel,  the  Hillside,  over  yonder, 
only  a  mile  or  so  away.  Best  place  in  all  the  region 
hereabouts ;  tip-topping  set  there,  too.  Count  Some- 
body-or-Other  from  Germany,  and  no  end  of  big 
wigs;  so  of  course  they  have  a  good  cook." 

Chamberlain  paused  and  finished  his  second  pear. 
The  man  on  the  stone  was  furtive  and  uneasy,  but 
masked  his  disquiet  with  the  insolent  sneering  man 
ner  that  had  often  served  him  well.  Chamberlain, 
having  once  adopted  the  role  of  a  garrulous  travel 
ing  salesman,  followed  it  up  with  zest. 

"Of  course,  a  man  can  get  a  good  meal,  for  that 
matter,  at  the  Red  House,  a  little  way  up  yonder 
over  the  hill.  But  it  wouldn't  suit  a  man  like  you — 
a  slow,  poky  place,  with  no  style." 

The   man   on  the   stone   slowly   turned   toward 


296  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Chamberlain,  and  at  last  found  voice  for  more  than 
monosyllabic  utterances. 

"I  was  looking  for  a  hotel,"  he  said,  in  correct 
English  but  with  a  foreign  accent,  "and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  take  your  advice.  The  Hillside,  you  say,  is 
in  this  direction?"  and  he  pointed  along  the  lower 
road. 

"Yes,"  heartily  assented  Chamberlain,  "about 
two  miles  through  those  woods,  and  you  won't  make 
any  mistake  going  there;  it's  a  very  good  place." 

The  man  got  up  from  the  stone. 

"And  the  other  inn  you  spoke  of — where  is  that?" 

"The  Red  House?  That's  quite  a  long  piece  up 
over  the  hill — this  way.  Straight  road ;  house  stands 
near  a  church ;  kept  by  a  country  woman  named  Sal- 
lie.  But  the  Hillside's  the  place  for  you ;  good  style, 
everything  neat  and  handsome.  And  fine  people!" 

"Very  well,  thanks,"  cut  in  the  other,  in  his  sharp, 
rasping  tones.  "I  shall  go  to  the  Hillside." 

He  slid  one  hand  into  a  pocket,  as  if  to  assure 
himself  that  he  had  not  been  robbed  by  sleight-of- 
hand  during  the  interview,  and  then  started  on  the 
road  leading  to  the  Hillside.  Chamberlain  said 
"Good  day,  sir,"  without  expecting  or  getting  an 
answer,  and  turned  down  the  hill  toward  the  village. 


MR.    CHAMBERLAIN    SLEUTH      297 

As  soon  as  he  had  dropped  from  sight,  however, 
he  walked  casually  into  the  thick  bushes  that  lined 
the  road,  and  from  this  ambush  he  took  a  careful 
survey  of  the  hill  behind  him.  Then  he  slowly  and 
cautiously  made  his  way  back  through  the  under 
brush  until  he  was  again  in  sight  of  the  cross-roads. 
Here,  concealed  behind  a  tree,  he  waited  patiently 
some  five  or  ten  minutes.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
Chamberlain's  mild  and  kindly  face  lighted  up  with 
unholy  joy.  He  opened  his  mouth  and  emitted  a 
soundless  "haw-haw." 

For  there  was  his  recent  companion  also  return 
ing  to  the  cross-roads,  taking  a  discreet  look  in  the 
direction  of  the  village  as  he  came  along.  Seeing 
that  the  coast  was  clear,  he  turned  and  went  rapidly 
up  the  road  that  led  over  the  hill  to  the  old  red  house. 

When  Chamberlain  saw  that  the  man  was  well  on 
his  way  he  stepped  into  the  road  and  solemnly 
danced  three  steps  of  a  hornpipe,  and  the  next  in 
stant  started  on  a  run  toward  the  village.  He  got 
little  Simon's  horse  and  buggy,  drove  into  the  upper 
street  and  picked  up  the  sheriff,  and  then  trotted  at 
a  good  rattling  pace  around  by  the  long  road  toward 
Ilion. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MONSIEUR  CHATELARD  TAKES  THE  WHEEL 

ALLIE  KINGSBURY  would  have  given  up  the 
ghost  without  more  ado,  had  she  known  what 
secular  and  unministerial  passions  were  converging 
about  Parson  Thayer's  peaceful  library.  As  it  was, 
she  had  a  distinct  feeling  that  life  wasn't  as  simple 
as  it  had  been  heretofore,  and  that  there  were  puz 
zling  problems  to  solve.  She  was  almost  certain 
that  she  had  caught  Mr.  Hand  using  an  oath; 
though  when  she  charged  him  with  it,  he  had  said 
that  he  had  been  talking  Spanish  to  himself — he  al 
ways  did  when  he  was  alone.  Sallie  didn't  exactly 
know  the  answer  to  that,  but  told  him  that  she  hoped 
he  would  remember  that  she  was  a  professor. 
"What's  that?"  inquired  Hand. 

"It's  a  Christian  in  good  and  regular  standing, 
and  it's  what  you  ought  to  be,"  said  Sallie. 

And  now  that  nice  Mr.  Chamberlain,  whom  she 
had  fed  in  the  early  morning,  had  dashed  up  to  the 

298 


CHATELARD   TAKES    THE   WHEEL   299 

kitchen  door  behind  Little  Simon's  best  horse,  de 
posited  a  man  from  Charlesport,  and  then  had  disap 
peared.  The  man  had  also  unceremoniously  left  her 
kitchen.  He  might  be  a  minister  brought  there  to 
officiate  at  the  church  on  the  following  Sabbath, 
Sallie  surmised;  but  on  second  thought  she  dis 
missed  the  idea.  He  didn't  look  like  any  minister 
she  had  ever  seen,  and  was  very  far  indeed  from  the 
Parson  Thayer  type. 

Hercules  Thayer's  business,  including  his  minis 
terial  duties,  had  formed  the  basis  and  staple  of  Sal- 
lie's  affectionate  interest  for  seventeen  years,  and  it 
wasn't  her  nature  to  give  up  that  interest,  now  that 
the  chief  actor  had  stepped  from  the  stage.  So  she 
speculated  and  wondered,  while  she  did  more  than 
her  share  of  the  work. 

She  picked  radishes  from  the  garden  for  supper, 
threw  white  screening  over  the  imposing  loaves  of 
bread  still  cooling  on  the  side  table,  and  was  sharp 
ening  a  knife  on  a  whetstone,  preparatory  to  carving 
thin  slices  from  a  veal  loaf  that  stood  near  by,  when 
she  was  accosted  by  some  one  appearing  suddenly  in 
the  doorway. 

"Is  this  the  Red  House?"  It  was  a  cool,  sharp 
yoice,  sounding  even  more  outlandish  than  Mr. 


300  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Hand's.  Sallie  turned  deliberately  toward  the  door 
and  surveyed  the  new-comer. 

"Well,  yes;  I  guess  so.  But  you  don't  need  to 
scare  the  daylights  outer  me,  that  way." 

The  stranger  entered  the  kitchen  and  pulled  out  a 
chair  from  the  table. 

"Give  me  something  to  eat  and  drink — the  best 
you  have,  and  be  quick  about  it,  too." 

Sallie  paused,  carving-knife  in  hand,  looking  at 
him  with  frank  curiosity.  "Well,  I  snum!  You 
ain't  the  new  minister  either,  now,  are  you?" 

The  stranger  made  no  answer.  He  had  thrown 
himself  into  the  chair,  as  if  tired.  Suddenly  he  sat 
up  and  looked  around  alertly,  then  at  Sallie,  who 
was  returning  his  gaze  with  interest. 

"Where  are  you  from,  anyway?"  she  inquired. 
"We  don't  see  people  like  you  around  these  parts 
very  often." 

"I  dare  say,"  he  snarled,  "Are  you  going  to  get 
me  a  meal,  or  must  I  tramp  over  these  confounded 
hills  all  day  before  I  can  eat?" 

"Oh,  I'll  get  you  up  a  bite,  if  that's  all  you  want. 
I  never  turned  anybody  away  hungry  from  this  door 
yet,  and  we've  had  many  a  worse  looking  tramp  than 
you.  I  guess  Miss  Redmond  won't  mind." 


CHATELARD    TAKES    THE   WHEEL   301 

"Miss  Redmond!"  The  stranger  started  to  his 
feet,  glowering  on  Sallie.  "Look  here!  Is  this 
place  a  hotel,  or  isn't  it  ?" 

"Well,  anybody'd  think  it  was,  the  way  I've  been 
driven  from  pillar  to  post  for  the  last  ten  days! 
But  you  can  stay;  I'll  get  you  a  meal,  and  a  good 
one,  too." 

Sallie's  good  nature  was  rewarded  by  a  convulsion 
of  anger  on  the  part  of  the  guest.  "Fool!  Idiot!" 
he  screamed.  "You  trick  me  in  here!  You  lie  to 
me!" 

"Oh,  set  down,  set  down!"  interrupted  Sallie. 
"You  don't  need  to  get  so  het  up  as  all  that! 
I'll  get  you  something  to  eat.  There  ain't  any  hotel 
within  five  miles  of  here — and  a  poor  one  at  that!" 
Thus  protesting  and  attempting  to  soothe,  Sallie  saw 
the  stranger  make  a  grab  for  his  hat  and  start  for 
the  door,  only  to  find  it  suddenly  shut  and  locked  in 
his  face.  Mr.  Chamberlain,  moreover,  was  on  the 
inside,  facing  the  foreigner. 

|  "If  you  will  step  through  the  house  and  go  out 
the  other  way,"  Mr.  Chamberlain  remarked  coolly, 
"it  will  oblige  me.  My  horse  is  loose  in  the  yard, 
and  I'm  afraid  you'll  scare  him  off.  He's  shy  with 
strangers." 


302  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

The  two  men  measured  glances. 

"I  thought  you  traveled  afoot  when  pursuing  your 
real  estate  business,"  sneered  the  stranger. 

"I  do,  when  it  suits  my  purposes,"  replied  Cham 
berlain. 

"What  game  are  you  up  to,  anyway,  in  this  dis 
gusting  country?"  inquired  the  other. 

"Ridding  it  of  rascals.  This  way,  please;"  and 
Chamberlain  pointed  before  him  toward  the  door 
leading  into  the  hall.  As  the  stranger  turned,  his 
glance  fell  on  Sallie,  still  carving  her  veal  loaf. 
"Idiot !"  he  said  disgustedly. 

"Well,  I  haven't  been  caught  yet,  anyhow,"  said 
Sallie  grimly. 

Chamberlain's  voice  interrupted  her.  "This  way, 
and  then  the  first  door  on  the  right.  Make  haste,  if 
you  please,  Monsieur  Chatelard." 

At  the  name,  the  stranger  turned,  standing  at 
bay,  but  Chamberlain  was  at  his  heels.  "You  see, 
I  know  your  name.  It  was  supplied  me  at  the  Read 
ing-room.  Here — on  the  right — quickly !" 

The  hall  was  dim,  almost  dark,  the  only  light  com 
ing  from  the  open  doorway  on  the  right.  Whether 
he  wished  or  no,  Monsieur  Chatelard  was  forced  to 


CHATELARD   TAKES   THE   WHEEL   303' 

advance  into  the  range  of  the  doorway;  and  once 
there,  he  found  himself  pushed  unceremoniously 
into  the  room. 

It  was  a  large,  cool  room,  lined  with  bookcases. 
Near  the  middle  stood  an  oblong  table  covered  with! 
green  felt  and  supporting  an  old  brass  lamp.  Four 
people  were  in  the  room,  besides  the  two  new-comers. 
Aleck  Van  Camp  was  on  a  low  step-ladder,  just  in 
the  act  of  handing  down  a  book  from  the  top  shelf. 
Near  the  step-ladder  two  women  were  standing, 
with  their  backs  toward  the  door.  Both  were  in 
white,  both  were  tall,  and  both  had  abundant  dark 
hair.  One  of  the  French  windows  leading  out  on  to 
the  porch  was  open,  and  just  within  the  sill  stood 
the  man  from  Charlesport. 

"Here's  a  wonderful  book — a  rare  one — the  rec 
ord  of  that  famous  Latin  controversy,"  Aleck  was 
saying,  when  he  became  conscious  of  the  entrance  of 
Chamberlain  and  a  stranger. 

"Ah,  hello,  Chamberlain,  that  you?"  he  cried. 
Agatha  and  Melanie,  turning  suddenly  to  greet 
Chamberlain,  simultaneously  encountered  the  gimlet- 
gaze  of  Chatelard.  It  was  fixed  first  on  Melanie, 
then  on  Agatha,  then  returned  to  Melanie  with  an 


3o4  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

added  increment  of  rage  and  bafflement.  But  he  was 
first  to  find  tongue. 

"So !"  he  sneered.  "I  find  you  after  all,  Princess 
Auguste  Stephanie  of  Krolvetz!  Consorting  with 
these — these  swine!" 

Melanie  looked  at  him  keenly,  with  hesitating  sus 
picions.  "Ah!  Duke  Stephen's  cat's-paw!  I  re 
member  you — well!"  But  before  the  words  were 
fairly  out  of  her  mouth,  Agatha's  voice  had  cut  in: 
"Mr.  Van  Camp,  that  is  he !  That  is  he !  The  man 
on  the  Jeanne  D'Arc!" 

"We  thought  as  much,"  answered  Chamberlain. 
"That's  why  he  is  here." 

"We  only  wanted  your  confirmation  of  his  ident 
ity,"  said  the  man  who  had  been  standing  by  the 
window,  as  he  came  forward.  "Monsieur  Chate- 
lard,  you  are  to  come  with  me.  I  am  the  sheriff  of 
Charlesport  County,  and  have  a  warrant  for  your 
arrest." 

As  the  sheriff  advanced  toward  Chatelard,  the 
cornered  man  turned  on  him  with  a  sound  that  was 
half  hiss,  half  an  oath.  He  was  like  a  panther  stand 
ing  at  bay.  Aleck  turned  toward  Melanie. 

"It  seems  that  you  know  this  man,  Melanie  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know  him — to  my  sorrow." 


CHATELARD    TAKES    THE    WHEEL    305 

"What  do  you  know  of  him?" 

"He  is  the  paid  spy  of  the  Duke  Stephen,  my 
cousin.  He  does  all  his  dirty  work."  Melanie 
laughed  a  bit  nervously  as  she  added,  turning  to 
Chatelard :  "But  you  are  the  last  man  I  expected  to 
see  here.  I  suppose  you  are  come  from  my  excellent 
cousin  to  find  me,  eh?  Is  that  the  case?" 

Chatelard's  eyes,  resting  on  her,  burned  with  hate. 
"Yes,  your  Highness.  I  am  the  humble  bearer  of  a 
message  from  Duke  Stephen  to  yourself." 

"And  that  message  is — ?" 

"A  command  for  your  immediate  return  to  Krol- 
vetz.  Matters  of  importance  await  you  there." 

"And  if  I  refuse  to  return?" 

Chatelard's  shoulders  went  up  and  his  hands 
spread  out  in  that  insolent  gesture  affected  by  cer 
tain  Europeans.  Chamberlain  stepped  forward  im 
patiently. 

"Look  here,  you  people,"  he  began,  "you  told  me 
this  chap  was  a  bloomin'  kidnapper,  and  so  I  rounded 
him  up — I  nabbed  him.  And  here  you  are  exchangin' 
howdy-do.  What's  the  meaning  of  it  all?" 

As  he  spoke,  Chamberlain's  eyes  rested  first  on 
Melanie,  then  on  Agatha,  whom  he  had  not  seen  be 
fore.  "By  Jove !"  he  ejaculated. 


306  [THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Whom  did  he  kidnap?"  questioned  Melanie. 

"Why,  me,  Miss  Reynier,"  cried  Agatha.  "He 
stole  my  car  and  drugged  me  and  got  me  into  his 
yacht — Heaven  knows  why!" 

"Kidnapped !    You !"  cried  Melanie. 

"Just  so,"  agreed  Aleck.  "And  now  I  see  why — • 
you  scoundrel!"  He  turned  upon  Chatelard  with 
contemptuous  fury.  "For  once  you  were  caught,  eh  ? 
These  ladies  are  much  alike — that  is  true.  So  much 
so  that  I  myself  was  taken  aback  the  first  time  I  saw 
Miss  Redmond.  You  thought  Miss  Redmond  was 
the  princess — masquerading  as  an  opera  singer." 

"Her  Highness  has  always  been  admired  as  a 
singer!"  cut  in  Chatelard. 

"No  doubt !  And  even  you  were  deceived !"  Aleck 
laughed  in  derision.  "But  when  you  take  so  serious 
a  step  as  an  abduction,  my  dear  man,  be  sure  you  get 
hold  of  the  right  victim." 

"She  was  even  singing  the  very  song  that  used  to 
be  a  favorite  of  her  Highness!"  remarked  Chate 
lard. 

"Your  memory  serves  you  too  well." 

But  Chatelard  turned  scoffingly  toward  Agatha. 
"You  sang  it  well,  Mademoiselle,  very  well.  And, 
as  this  gentleman  asserts,  you  deceived  even  me. 


CHATELARD    TAKES    THE   WHEEL   307 

But  you  are  indiscreet  to  walk  unattended  in  the 
park." 

Agatha,  unnerved  and  weak,  had  grown  pale  with 
fear. 

"Don't  talk  with  him,  Mr.  Van  Camp,  he  is  dan 
gerous.  Get  him  away/'  she  pleaded. 

"True,  Miss  Redmond.  We  only  waste  time. 
Sheriff—" 

Again  the  sheriff  advanced  toward  Chatelard,  and 
again  he  was  warned  off  with  a  hissing  oath.  At  the 
same  moment  a  shadow  fell  within  the  other  door 
way.  As  Chatelard's  glance  rested  on  the  figure 
standing  there,  his  face  gleamed.  He  pointed  an 
accusing  forefinger. 

"There  is  the  abductor,  if  any  such  person  is  pres 
ent  at  all,"  said  he.  "That  is  the  man  who  stole  the 
lady's  car  and  ran  it  to  the  dock.  He  is  your  man, 
Mister  Sheriff,  not  I." 

The  accusation  came  with  such  a  tone  of  convic 
tion  on  the  part  of  the  speaker,  that  for  an  instant 
it  confused  the  mind  of  every  one  present.  In  the 
pause  that  followed,  Chatelard  turned  with  an  inso 
lent  shrug  toward  Agatha.  "This  lady — "  and 
every  word  had  a  sneer  in  it — *  "this  lady  will  testify 
that  I  am  right." 


308  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Agatha  stared  with  a  face  of  alarm  toward  the 
doorway,  where  Hand  stood  silent. 

"If  that  is  true,  Miss  Redmond,"  began  the  sher 
iff. 

"No— no!"  cried  Agatha. 

"He  had  nothing  to  do  with  it?"  questioned  the 
sheriff. 

As  he  waited  for  her  answer,  Agatha  suddenly 
came  to  herself.  Her  trembling  ceased;  she  looked 
about  upon  them  all  with  her  truthful  eyes;  looked 
upon  Hand  standing  unconcernedly  in  the  doorway, 
upon  Chatelard  in  the  corner  gleaming  like  an  oily 
devil. 

"No — he  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  said. 

Chatelard's  laugh  beat  back  her  words  like  a 
bludgeon. 

"Liars,  all  liars!"  he  cried.  "I  might  have 
known !" 

But  Chamberlain  was  impatient  of  all  this.  "And 
now,  Monsieur  Kidnapper,  you  can  walk  off  with 
this  gentleman  here.  And  you  can't  go  one  minute 
too  soon.  The  penitentiary's  the  place  for  you." 

Chatelard  turned  on  him  with  another  laugh. 
"You  need  not  feel  obliged  to  hold  on  to  me,  Mister 
Land-Agent.  I  know  when  I'm  beaten — which  you 


CHATELARD    TAKES    THE   WHEEL   309 

Englishmen  never  do.    Got  another  of  those  pears 
you  offered  me  this  morning?" 

Before  Chamberlain  could  make  reply,  or  before 
the  sheriff  and  his  prisoner  could  get  to  the  door, 
there  was  the  chug  of  an  automobile.  A  second 
later  urgent  and  loud  voices  penetrated  the  room, 
first  from  the  steps,  then  from  the  hall.  One  was 
the  hearty  voice  of  a  man,  the  other  was  Lizzie's. 

"Can't  see  her !  Tell  me  I  can't  see  her  after  I've 
run  a  hundred  miles  a  day  into  the  jungle  on  pur 
pose  to  see  her!  The  idea!  Where  is  she?  In 
here?"  And  in  stalked  Mr.  Straker,  with  cap,  linen 
duster,  and  high  gaitered  boots.  He  was  pulling  off 
his  goggles.  "Well,  what's  this?  A  family  party? 
Where's  Miss  Redmond?" 

"Mr.  Straker—"  cried  Agatha. 

"That's  me !  Oh,  there  you  are !  Why  don't  you 
open  up  and  get  some  light?  I  can't  see  a  thing." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Straker — "  Agatha  was  say 
ing,  when  suddenly  the  attention  of  everybody  in 
the  room  was  drawn  outside. 

When  Chamberlain  had  told  Chatelard  that  his 
horse  was  loose  in  the  yard,  it  happened  to  be  the 
truth;  now,  excited  by  fear  of  the  strange  machine 
that  had  just  arrived,  the  horse,  with  flying  bridle- 


310  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

rein,  was  snorting  and  prancing  on  his  way  to  the 
vegetable  garden.  It  was  almost  beyond  masculine 
power  to  resist  the  impulse  of  pursuit.  Aleck  and 
Chamberlain  sprang  through  the  window,  the  sheriff 
went  as  far  as  the  lawn  after  them,  and  in  that  in 
stant  Chatelard  slipped  like  an  eel  through  the  open 
door  and  out  to  the  gate  to  Straker's  machine,  still 
chugging.  The  sheriff  saw  him  as  he  jumped  in. 

"Hey,  there !"  he  shouted,  and  made  a  lively  run 
for  the  gate.  But  before  he  reached  it,  Chatelard 
had  jerked  open  the  lever,  loosened  the  brake,  and 
was  passing  the  church  at  half  speed. 

"Hey,  there,  quick!"  called  the  sheriff.  "He's  got 
away !" 

But  Mr.  Hand  had  already  thought  what  was  best 
to  be  done. 

"Come  on,  here's  another  machine.  We'll  chase 
him!"  he  cried,  as  he  went  for  the  white  motor 
car,  standing  farther  back  under  the  trees.  It  had 
to  be  cranked,  which  required  some  seconds,  but 
presently  they  were  off — Hand  and  the  sheriff,  in 
hot  pursuit  after  Straker's  car. 

Chamberlain  and  Aleck,  triumphantly  leading  the 
horse,  came  back  in  time  to  see  the  settling  cloud  of 
dust. 


CHATELARD    TAKES    THE   WHEEL   311 

"Mr.  Chamberlain — Mr.  Van  Camp!'*  cried  Aga 
tha.  "They've  gone !  They've  got  away !" 

"Who's  got  away?"  demanded  Chamberlain. 

"All  of  them!"  groaned  Agatha,  as  she  sank  down 
on  the  piazza  steps. 

"Jimminy  Christmas!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Straker. 
"This  beats  any  ten-twenty-thirty  I  ever  saw.  Reg 
ular  Dick  Deadwood  game !  And  he's  run  off  with 
my  new  racer!" 

"What!"  yelled  Chamberlain.  "Did  that  bloomin' 
sheriff  let  that  bloomin'  rascal  get  away?" 

"He  isn't  anybody  I'd  care  to  keep!"  chuckled 
Straker.  "But  you  know  that  new  racer's  worth 
something." 

"Did  Chatelard  go  off  in  that  machine?"  again  in 
quired  Chamberlain  slowly  and  distinctly  of  the  two 
women. 

"Precisely,"  said  Melanie,  while  Agatha's  bowed 
head  nodded. 

"By  Jove,  that  sheriff's  a  duffer!  Here,  Van, 
give  me  the  horse."  And  with  the  words  Chamber 
lain  grabbed  Little  Simon's  best  roadster,  mounted 
him  bareback,  and  turned  his  head  up  the  road. 

"I'll  catch  him  yet!"  he  yelled  back. 

But  he  didn't.    Three  miles  farther  along  he  came 


312  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

upon  the  wreck.  The  racer  was  lying  on  its  side  in 
a  ditch  which  recent  rains  had  converted  into  a 
substantial  volume  of  mire  and  mud.  The  white 
machine  was  drawn  cosily  up  under  a  spreading 
hemlock  farther  on,  but  Mr.  Hand  and  the  sheriff 
were  nowhere  in  sight. 

As  Chamberlain  stopped  to  gaze  on  the  over 
turned  car,  he  heard  the  crashing  of  underbrush  in 
the  woods  near  by.  The  steps  came  nearer.  It  was 
evident  the  chase  was  up;  they  were  off  the  scent 
and  obliged  to  return. 

"Humph!"  grunted  Chamberlain,  and  for  once 
the  clear  springs  of  his  disposition  were  made  turbid 
with  satire.  "We're  all  a  pack  of  bloomin'  asses — 
that's  what  we  are.  What  in  hell's  the  matter  with 
us!" 

While  he  was  tying  the  horse  to  a  tree,  Hand 
appeared,  silent,  with  an  unfathomable  disgust  writ 
ten  on  his  countenance.  As  usual,  he  who  was  the 
least  to  blame  came  in  for  the  hottest  of  the  censure; 
and  yet,  there  was  a  sort  of  fellowship  indicated  by 
Chamberlain's  extraordinary  arraignment  of  them 
both.  He  was  scarcely  known  ever  to  have  been 
profane,  but  at  this  moment  he  searched  for  wicked 
words  and  interspersed  his  speech  with  them  reck- 


CHATELARD    TAKES    THE   WHEEL   313 

lessly,  if  not  with  skill.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  his 
torian  to  expurgate. 

"I  don't  know  just  how  you  happen  to  be  in  this 
game,"  pronounced  Chamberlain  hotly,  "but  all  I've 
got  to  say  is  you're  an  ass — an  infernal  ass." 

Hand,  rolling  up  his  sleeves,  remained  silent. 

"I  suppose  if  you'd  had  a  perfectly  good  million- 
dollar  bank-note,  you'd  have  let  it  blow  away — piff ! 
right  out  of  your  hands!"  he  fumed.  "Or  the  title 
deed  to  Mount  Olympus — or  a  ticket  to  a  front  seat 
in  the  New  Jerusalem.  That's  all  it  amounts  to. 
Catch  an  eel,  only  to  let  him  slip  through  your  fin 
gers — eh,  you!" 

Mr.  Hand  made  no  answer.  Instead,  he  waded 
into  the  ditch-stream  and  placed  a  shoulder  under 
the  racing-car.  Chamberlain's  instinct  for  doing  his 
share  of  work  caused  him  to  roll  up  his  trousers  and 
wade  in,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Hand,  even  while 
he  was  lecturing  on  the  feebleness  of  man's  wits. 

"Good  horse  running  loose  into  barb-wire  fences 
had  to  be  caught,  but  it  didn't  need  a  squadron  of 
men  and  a  forty-acre  lot  to  do  it  in.  Might  have 
known  he'd  give  us  the  slip  if  he  could — biggest  ras 
cal  in  Europe!"  And  so  on.  Chamberlain,  usually 
rather  a  silent  man,  blew  himself  empty  for  once, 


314  THE   STOLEN    SINGER 

conscious  all  the  time  that  he,  himself,  was  quite  as 
much  to  blame  as  Hand  could  possibly  have  been. 
And  Hand  knew  that  he  knew,  but  kept  his  counsel. 
Hand  ought  to  be  prime  minister  by  this  time. 

When  the  racing-car  was  righted,  he  went  swiftly 
and  skilfully  to  work  investigating  the  damage  and 
putting  the  machine  in  order,  as  far  as  possible. 
Chamberlain  presently  became  impressed  with  his 
mechanical  dexterity. 

"By  Jove,  you  can  see  into  her,  can't  you !"  Hand 
continued  silent,  and  left  it  to  his  companion  to  put 
on  the  finishing  verbal  touches. 

"Tow  her  home  and  fill  her  up  and  she'll  be  all 
right,  eh?"  said  Chamberlain,  but  Hand  kept  on 
tinkering.  The  sudden  neighing  and  plunging  of 
Little  Simon's  poor  tormented  horse  gave  warning 
of  the  sheriff,  crashing  from  the  underbrush  directly 
into  the  road. 

He  was  voluble  with  excuses.  The  fugitive  had 
escaped,  leaving  no  traces  of  his  flight.  He  might  be 
in  the  woods,  or  he  might  have  run  to  the  railroad 
track  and  caught  the  freight  that  had  just  slowly 
passed.  He  might  be  in  the  next  township,  or  he 
might  be — 
1  "Oh,  go  to  thunder!"  said  Chamberlain. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JIMMY  REDIVIVUS 

TF  the  occupants  of  the  old  red  house  felt  over- 

much  inclined  to  draw  a  long  breath  and  rest 
on  their  oars  after  their  anxiety  and  recent  excite 
ment,  Agatha's  manager  was  able  to  supply  a  power 
ful  antidote.  He  was  restlessness  incarnate. 

He  was  combining  a  belated  summer  holiday  with 
what  he  considered  to  be  good  business,  "seeing" 
not  only  his  prima  donna  secluded  at  Ilion,  but  other 
important  people  all  the  way  from  Portland  to  Hali 
fax.  .When  he  heard  that  the  man  who  ran  off  with 
his  racing-car  was  also  responsible  for  the  mysteri 
ous  departure  of  Miss  Redmond,  his  excitement  was 
great. 

"You  mean  to  say  that  you  were  picked  up  and 
drugged  in  broad  daylight  in  New  York?"  he  de 
manded  of  Agatha. 

"Practically  that." 

"And  you  escaped?" 

315 


3i6  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"The  yacht  foundered." 

"And  that  scamp  walked  right  into  your  hands 
and  you  let  him  go?" 

Agatha  forced  a  rueful  smile.    "I  confess  I'm  not 
much  used  to  catching  criminals." 
;     Mr.  Straker  paused,  lacking  words  to  express  his 
outraged  spirit 

"I  don't  mean  you,  of  course.  This  whole  out 
fit  here — what  are  they  doing?  Think  they're  put 
on  in  a  walking  part,  eh?  Don't  they  know  enough 
to  go  in  out  of  the  rain?"  Getting  no  reply  to  his 
fuming,  he  came  down  from  his  high  horse,  curi 
osity  impelling.  "What'd  he  kidnap  you  for — ran 
som?" 

i  "No.  It  seems  that  he  mistook  me  for  Miss  Rey- 
nier — the  lady  out  there  on  the  lawn  talking  with  Mr. 
Van  Camp." 

Mr.  Straker  bent  his  intent  gaze  out  of  the  win 
dow. 

"I  don't  see  any  resemblance  at  all."  His  crusty 
manner  implied  that  Agatha,  or  somebody,  was  to 
blame  for  all  the  coil  of  trouble,  and  should  be  made 
to  pay  for  it. 

"Even  I  was  puzzled,"  smiled  Agatha.  "I  thought 
she  was  some  one  I  knew." 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  317 

"Nonsense!"  growled  Mr.  Straker.  "Anybody 
with  two  eyes  could  see  the  difference.  She's  older, 
and  heavier.  What  did  the  scoundrel  want  with 
her?" 

"I  don't  know.     She's  a  princess  or  something." 

Mr.  Straker  jumped.  "She  is !"  he  cried.  "Lord, 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"I'm  trying  to." 

"Advertising!"  he  shouted  joyfully.  "Jimminy 
Christmas!  We'll  make  it  up — all  this  time  lost. 
Princess  who  ?  Where  from  ?  I  guess  you  do  look 
like  her,  after  all.  I  see  it  all  now — head-lines! 
'Strange  confusion  of  identity !  Which  is  the  prin 
cess?'  It'll  draw  crowds — thousands." 

i 

Agatha  escaped,  leaving  Mr.  Straker  to  collect 
from  others  the  details  of  his  advertising  story, 
which  he  did  with  surprising  speed  and  accuracy. 
By  the  next  morning  he  had  pumped  Sallie,  Doctor 
Thayer  and  Aleck  Van  Camp,  and  had  extracted  the 
promise  of  an  interview  from  Miss  Reynier  herself. 

The  only  really  unsatisfactory  subject  of  investi 
gation  was  Mr.  Hand,  whom  Straker  watched  for 
a  day  or  two  with  growing  suspicion.  Straker  had 
sputtered,  good-naturedly  enough,  over  the  "acci 
dent"  to  his  racing-car,  and  had  taken  it  for  granted, 


318  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

in  rather  a  high-handed  manner,  that  Mr.  Hand  was 
to  make  repairs.  His  manner  toward  the  chauffeur 
was  not  pleasant,  being  a  combination  of  the  patron 
and  the  bully.  It  was  exactly  the  sort  of  manner  to 
precipitate  civil  war,  though  diplomacy  might  serve 
to  cover  the  breach  for  a  time. 

But  the  racing-car,  ignominiously  towed  home  by 
Miss  Reynier's  white  machine,  stood  undisturbed  in 
one  of  the  open  carriage  sheds  by  the  church. 
Eluded  by  Hand  for  the  space  of  twenty-four  hours, 
and  finding  that  the  injury  to  the  car  was  far  beyond 
his  own  mechanical  skill  to  repair,  Mr.  Straker  sent 
peremptory  word  to  Charlesport  and  to  the  Hillside 
for  the  services  of  a  mechanician,  without  satisfac 
tion.  Little  Simon  thought  the  matter  was  beyond 
him,  but  informed  Mr.  Straker  that  perhaps  the  engi 
neer  at  the  quarry — a  native  who  had  "been  to  Bos 
ton"  and  qualified  as  chauffeur — would  come  and 
look  at  it. 

"Then  for  Heaven's  sake,  Colonel,  get  him  to 
come  and  be  quick  about  it,"  adjured  Mr.  Straker. 
"And  tell  him  for  me  that  there's  a  long-yellow  for 
him  if  he'll  make  the  thing  right." 

"He'll  charge  you  two  dollars  an  hour,  including 
time  on  the  road,"  solemnly  announced  Little  Simon, 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  319 

unimpressed  by  any  mention  of  the  long-yellow. 
Had  Little  Simon  "liked,"  he  could  probably  have 
mended  the  car  himself,  but  Mr.  Straker's  manner, 
so  effective  on  Broadway,  was  not  to  the  taste  of 
these  country  people.  He  thought  of  them  in  their 
poverty  as  "peasants,"  but  without  the  kindliness  of 
the  born  gentleman.  What  Aleck  Van  Camp  could 
have  got  for  love,  Mr.  Straker  could  not  buy;  and 
he  was  at  last  obliged  to  appeal  to  Hand  through 
Agatha's  agency. 

"I'll  look  at  it  again,"  Hand  replied  shortly,  when 
Agatha  addressed  him  on  the  subject. 

The  car  being  temporarily  out  of  commission,  it 
was  necessary  for  Mr.  Straker  to  adopt  some  other 
means  of  making  himself  and  everybody  about  him 
extremely  busy.  He  took  a  fancy  for  yachting,  and 
got  himself  diligently  instructed  in  an  art  which,  of 
all  arts,  must  be  absorbed  with  the  mother's  milk, 
taken  with  the  three  R's  and  followed  with  enthusi 
astic  devotion.  In  Mr.  Straker  every  qualification 
for  seamanship  was  lacking  save  enthusiasm,  but  as 
he  himself  never  discovered  this  fact,  his  amour 
propre  did  not  suffer,  and  his  companions  were 
partly  relieved  of  the  burden  of  his  entertainment. 
Presently  he  made  up  his  mind  that  it  was  time  for 


320  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

him  to  see  Jimmy.  His  nose,  trained  for  scenting 
news,  led  him  inevitably  to  the  chief  actor  in  the  un 
usual  drama  which  had  indirectly  involved  his  own 
fortunes,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
follow  it  at  once. 

"You'd  better  wait  a  while,"  cautioned  Doctor 
Thayer.  "That  young  man  pumped  his  heart  dry 
as  a  seed-pod,  and  got  some  fever  germs  on  top  of 
that.  He  isn't  fit  to  stand  the  third  degree  just  yet." 

"I'm  not  going  to  give  him  any  third  degree,  not 
a  bit  of  it.  'Hero !  Saved  a  Princess !'  and  all  that. 
That's  what's  coming  to  him  as  soon  as  the  newspa 
pers  get  hold  of  it.  But  I  want  to  know  how  he  did 
it,  and  what  he  did  it  for.  Tell  him  to  buck  up." 

Jimmy  did  buck  up,  though  Mr.  Straker's  mes 
sage  still  remains  to  be  delivered.  He  gathered  his 
forces  and  exhibited  such  recuperative  abilities  as 
to  astonish  the  old  red  house  and  all  Ilion.  Doctor 
Thayer  and  each  of  his  nurses  in  turn  unconsciously 
assumed  credit  for  the  good  work,  and  Sallie  Kings- 
bury  took  a  good  share  of  pride  in  his  satisfactory 
recovery. 

"Two  aigs  regular,"  she  would  say,  with  all  a 
housekeeper's  glory  in  her  guests'  enjoyment  of 
food. 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  321 

There  was  enough  credit  to  go  round,  indeed,  and 
Jimmy  presently  became  the  animated  and  interest 
ing  center  of  the  family.  He  might  have  been  a  new 
baby  and  his  bedroom  the  sacred  nursery.  He  was 
being  spoiled  every  hour  of  the  day. 

"Did  he  have  a  good  night?"  Agatha  would  anx 
iously  inquire  of  Mr.  Hand. 

"Can't  tell  which  is  night;  he  sleeps  all  the  time," 
would  be  the  tenor  of  Mr.  Hand's  reply.  Or  Sallie 
would  ask,  as  if  her  fate  depended  on  the  answer, 
"Did  he  eat  that  nice  piece  er  chicken,  Aunt  Susan  ?" 
And  Mrs.  Stoddard  would  say,  "Eat  it!  It  disap 
peared  so  quick  I  thought  he'd  choke.  Wanted  three 
more  just  like  it,  but  I  told  him  that  invalids  were 
like  puppy-dogs — could  only  have  one  meal  a  day." 

"Well,  how'd  he  take  that?"  asked  the  interested 
Sallie. 

"He  said  if  I  thought  he  was  an  invalid  any 
longer  I  had  another  guess  coming.  Says  he'll  be 
up  and  into  his  clothes  by  to-morrow,  and  is  going 
to  take  care  of  me.  Says  I'm  pale  and  need  a  high 
ball,  whatever  that  is." 

"Never  heard  of  it,"  said  Sallie. 

"He's  a  good  young  man,  if  he  did  get  pitched 
overboard,"  went  on  Mrs.  Stoddard.  "But  he 


322  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

doesn't  need  me  any  more,  and  I  guess  I'll  be  going 
along  home." 

"I  don't  know  but  what  the  rest  of  us  need  you/' 
complained  Sallie.  "It's  more  of  a  Sunday-school 
picnic  here  than  you'd  think,  what  with  a  New  York 
press  agent  and  a  princess,  to  say  nothing  of  that  Mr. 
Hand." 

"He  certainly  knows  how  to  manage  a  sick"  man," 
said  Susan. 

"He  don't  talk  like  a  Christian,"  said  Sallie. 

Mrs.  Stoddard  made  her  way  to  Agatha  in  the 
cool  chamber  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Agatha,  in 
a  dressing-sack,  with  her  hair  down,  called  her  in 
and  sent  "Lizzie  away. 

"You're  not  going,  are  you,  Mrs.  Stoddard?" 
She  took  Susan's  two  hands  and  held  them  lovingly 
against  her  cheek.  "It  won't  seem  right  here,  with 
out  you." 

"You've  done  your  duty,  Agatha,  and  I've  done 
mine,  as  I  saw  it.  I'm  not  needed  here  any  more, 
but  I'll  send  Angie  over  to  help  Sallie  with  the  work, 
after  I  get  the  crab-apples  picked." 

Agatha  held  Mrs.  Stoddard's  hands  closely.  "Ah, 
you  have  been  good  to  us !" 

"There  is  none  good  but  One,"  quoted  Mrs.  Stod- 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  323 

dard ;  nevertheless  her  eyes  were  moist  with  feeling. 
"You'll  stay  on  in  the  old  red  house  ?" 

"I  don't  know;  probably  not  for  long.  But  I 
almost  wish  I  could." 

"I've  learned  a  sight  by  you,  Agatha.  I  want  you 
to  know  that,"  said  Susan,  struggling  with  her  reti 
cence  and  her  impulse  toward  confession. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that  to  me,  Mrs.  Stoddard.  I  can 
only  remember  how  good  you've  been  to  us  all." 

But  Susan  would  not  be  denied.  "I  thought  you 
were  proud  and  vain  and — and  worldly,  Agatha. 
And  I  treated  you  harsh,  I  know." 

"No,  no.  Whatever  you  thought,  it's  all  past 
now,  and  you  are  my  friend.  You'll  help  me  to 
take  care  of  this  dear  old  place — yes?" 

"The  Lord  will  establish  the  work  of  your  hands, 
my  child!"  She  suddenly  turned  with  one  of  her 
practical  ideas.  "I  wouldn't  let  that  new  city  man  in 
to  see  Mr.  Hambleton  just  yet,  if  I  were  you." 

"Is  Mr.  Straker  trying  to  get  in  to  see  Mr.  Ham 
bleton?" 

"Knocked  at  the  door  twice  this  morning,  and  I 
told  him  he  couldn't  come  in.  'Why  not?'  said  he. 
'Danger  of  fever,'  said  I.  Then  Mr.  Hambleton 
asked  me  who  was  there,  and  I  said,  'I  don't  exactly 


324  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

know,  but  it's  either  Miss  Redmond's  maid's  beau  or 
a  press  agent,'  and  then  Mr.  Hambleton  called  out,  as 
quick  and  strong  as  anybody,  'Go  'way !  I  think  I've 
got  smallpox.'  And  he  went  off,  quicker'n  a  wink, 
and  hasn't  been  back  since."  Mrs.  Stoddard's  grim 
old  face  wrinkled  in  a  humorous  smile.  "I  guess 
he'll  get  over  his  smallpox  scare,  but  Mr.  Hambleton 
don't  want  to  see  him,  not  yet.  He  wants  to  see 
you." 

"I'm  going  in  to  see  him  soon,  anyway,"  said 
Agatha. 

But  still  she  waited  a  little  before  going  in  for 
her  morning  visit  with  James.  It  meant  so  much 
to  her !  It  wasn't  to  be  taken  lightly  and  casually, 
but  with  a  little  pomp  and  ceremony.  Each  day 
since  the  night  of  the  crisis  she  had  paid  her  morn 
ing  call,  and  each  day  she  had  seen  new  lights  in  Jim 
my's  eyes.  In  vain  had  she  been  matter-of-fact  and 
practical,  treating  him  as  an  invalid  whose  vagaries 
should  be  indulged  even  though  they  were  of  no  im 
portance.  He  would  not  accept  her  on  those  terms. 
Back  of  his  weakness  had  been  a  strength,  more  and 
more  perceptible  each  day,  touching  her  with  the 
sweetest  flattery  woman  ever  receives.  It  was  the 
strength  of  a  lover's  spirit,  looking  out  at  her  from 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  325 

his  eyes  and  speaking  to  her  in  every  inflection  of 
his  voice.  Moreover,  while  he  stoutly  and  continu 
ously  denied  his  fever-sickness,  he  took  no  trouble 
to  conceal  this  other  malady.  As  soon  as  he  could 
speak  distinctly  he  proclaimed  his  spiritual  madness, 
though  nobody  but  Agatha,  and  possibly  Mrs.  Stod- 
dard,  quite  understood. 

"I'm  not  sick ;  don't  be  an  idiot,  Hand.  And  give 
me  a  shave,  for  Heaven's  sake.  Anybody  can  get 
knocked  on  the  head — that's  all  the  matter  with  me. 
Give  me  some  clothes  and  you'll  see."  Even  Hand 
had  to  give  in  quickly.  Jimmy's  resilience  passed 
all  expectations.  He  came  up  like  a  rubber  ball ;  and 
now,  on  a  fine  September  morning,  he  was  getting 
shaved  and  clothed  in  one  of  Aleck's  suits.  Finally 
he  was  propped  up  in  an  easy  chair  by  a  window 
overlooking  the  towering  elm  tree  and  the  white 
church. 

"Er — Andy — couldn't  you  get  me  some  kind  of 
a  tie  ?  This  soft  shirt  business  doesn't  look  very  fit, 
does  it,  without  a  tie  ?"  coaxed  Jim. 

"If  you  ask  me,  I  say  you  look  fine." 

"Where'd  you  get  all  your  good  clothes,  I'd  like 
to  know?"  inquired  Jim  sternly,  looking  at  Hand's 
immaculate  linen. 


326  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Miss  Sallie  washes  'em  after  I  go  to  bed  in  the 
morning,"  confessed  Hand. 

"Oh,  she  does,  does  she!"  jeered  Jimmy.  "Well, 
you'll  have  to  go  to  bed  at  night,  like  other  folks, 
now.  And  then  what'll  you  do  ?" 

"I  guess  Miss  Sallie'll  have  to  sit  up  nights,"  mod 
estly  suggested  Hand,  when  a  slipper  struck  him  in 
fhe  back.  "Good  shot !  What  d'you  want  now — an 
opera  hat  ?"  he  inquired  derisively. 

"Andy!"  ejaculated  Jim,  dismay  settling  on  his 
features.  "I've  just  thought!  Do  you  s'pose  I'm 
paying  hotel  bills  all  this  time  at  The  Larue  ?" 

Hand  grinned  unsympathetically.  "If  you  en 
gaged  a  room,  sir,  and  didn't  give  it  up,  I  believe 
it's  the  custom—" 

"That'll  do  for  now,  Handy  Andy,  if  you  can't 
get  up  any  better  answer  than  that.  Lord,  what's 
that!"  Jim  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  if  he  hadn't  been 
waiting,  all  ears,  for  that  very  step  in  the  passage. 

"I  guess  likely  that'll  be  Miss  Redmond,"  replied 
the  respectful  Hand.  And  so  it  was. 

Agatha,  fresh  as  the  morning,  stood  in  the  door 
way  for  a  contemplative  moment,  before  coming 
forward  to  take  Jim's  outstretched  hand. 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  327 

"Samson — shorn !"  she  exclaimed  gaily.  "I  hardly 
know  you,  all  fixed  up  like  this." 

"Oh,  I  look  much  better  than  this  when  I'm  really 
dressed  up,  you  know,"  Jim  asserted.  Agatha  pat 
ted  his  knuckles  indulgently,  looked  at  the  thinness 
and  whiteness  of  the  hand,  and  shook  her  head. 

"Not  gaining  enough  yet,"  she  said.  "That  isn't 
the  right  color  for  a  hand." 

"It  needs  to  be  held  longer." 

"Oh,  no,  it  needs  more  quiet.  Fewer  visitors,  no 
talking,  and  plenty  of  fresh  milk  and  eggs." 

Jimmy  almost  stamped  his  foot.  "Down  with 
eggs!"  he  cried.  "And  milk,  too.  I'm  going  to 
institute  a  mutiny.  Excuse  me,  I  know  I'm  visiting 
and  ought  to  be  polite,  but  no  more  invalid's  food 
for  me.  Handy  Andy  and  I  are  going  out  to  kill 
a  moose  and  eat  it — eh,  Andy?" 

But  Hand  was  gone.  Agatha  sat  down  in  a  big 
rocker  at  the  other  window.  "In  that  case,"  she 
said  demurely,  "we'll  all  have  to  be  thinking  of  Lynn 
and  New  York  and  work." 

Jim  shamelessly  turned  feather.  "Oh,  no,"  he 
cried.  "I'm  very  ill.  I'm  not  able  to  go  to  Lynn. 
Besides,  my  time  isn't  up  yet.  This  is  my  vacation." 


328  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

He  looked  up  smiling  into  Agatha's  face,  ingenuous 
as  a  boy  of  seven. 

"Do  you  always  take  such — such  venturesome 
holidays?"  she  asked. 

"I  never  took  any  before ;  at  least,  not  what  I  call 
holidays,"  he  said.  "If  you  don't  come  over  here 
and  sit  near  me,  I  shall  get  up  and  go  over  to  you. 
And  Andy  says  I'm  very  wobbly  on  my  legs.  I 
might  by  accident  drop  into  your  lap." 

Agatha  pushed  her  chair  over  toward  James,  and 
before  she  could  sit  down  he  had  drawn  it  still  closer 
to  his  own.  "The  doctor  says  my  hand  has  to  be 
held !"  he  assured  her,  as  he  got  firm  hold  of  hers. 

"For  shame !"  she  cried.    "Mustn't  tell  fibs." 

"Tell  me,"  he  begged,  "is  this  your  house,  really'n 
truly  ?"  It  brought,  as  he  knew  it  would,  her  ready 
smile. 

"Yep,"  she  nodded. 

"And  is  that  your  tree  out  there  ?" 

"Yep." 

"Ah!"  he  sighed.  "It's  great!  It's  Paradise. 
I've  dreamed  of  just  such  a  heavenly  place.  And 
Andy  says  we've  been  here  two  weeks." 

"Yes— and  a  little  more." 

"My  holiday  half  gone!"     His  mood  suddenly 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  329 

changed  from  its  jocund  and  boyish  manner,  and  he 
turned  earnestly  toward  Agatha. 

"I  don't  know,  dear  girl,  all  that  has  happened 
since  that  night — with  you — on  the  water.  Hand 
shuts  me  off  most  villainously.  But  I  know  it's 
Heaven  being  here,  with  Aleck  and  every  one  so 
good  to  me,  and  you !  You've  come  back,  somehow, 
like  a  reality  from  my  dreams.  I  watch  for  you. 
You're  all  I  think  of,  whether  I'm  awake  or  asleep." 

Agatha  earnestly  regarded  his  frank  face,  with  its 
laughing,  true  eyes.  "Jimmy,"  she  said — he  had 
begged  her  to  call  him  that —  "it  seems  as  if  I,  too, 
had  known  you  a  long  time.  More  than  these  little 
two  weeks." 

"It  is  more;  you  said  so,"  put  in  Jim. 

"Yes;  a  little  more.  And  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you,  I  shouldn't  be  here,  or  anywhere.  I  often  think 
of  that." 

"You  see !"  he  cried.  "I  had  to  have  you,  even  if 
I  followed  you  half-way  round  the  globe;  even  if  I 
had  to  jump  into  the  sea.  Kismet — you  can't  escape 
me!" 

But  Agatha  was  only  half  smiling.  "No,"  she 
protested,  "it  is  not  that.  I  owe — " 

Jim  put  his  fingers  on  her  lips.    "Tut,  tut!    Dear 


330  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

girl,  you  owe  nothing,  except  to  your  own  courage 
and  good  swimming.  But  as  for  me,  why,  you 
know  I'm  yours." 

"James,"  Agatha  could  not  help  preaching  a  bit, 
"just  because  we  happen  to  be  the  actors  in  an 
adventure  is  no  reason,  no  real  reason,  why  we 
should  be  silly  about  each  other.  We  don't  have  to 
end  the  story  that  way." 

"Oh,  don't  we!  We'll  see!"  shouted  Jim.  "And 
I'm  not  silly,  if  some  other  people  are.  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  be  cheated  out  of  a  perfectly  good 
climax,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  any  more  than  the 
next  fellow.  Agatha,  dearest — " 

But  she  wouldn't  listen  to  him.  "No,  no,"  she 
protested,  slowly  but  earnestly.  "Look  here,  Mr. 
James  Hambleton,  of  Lynn!  I  promise  to  do  any 
thing,  or  everything,  that  you  honestly  want,  after 
you  get  well.  I'll  listen  to  you  then.  But  I'm  not 
going  to  let  a  man  who  is  just  out  of  a  delirium  make 
love  to  me." 

"But  I'm  not  just  out.  I  only  had  a  whack  on 
the  head,  and  that's  nothing.  I'm  strong  as  an  ox. 
I'm  saner  than  anybody.  Do  listen  to  me,  Agatha." 

"No — no,  I  mustn't." 

"But    tell    me,    dear.      You're    free?      You're 


She  stood  over  him  looking  down  tenderly. 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  331 

not — "  he  searched  for  the  word  that  suited  his 
mood —  "you're  not  plighted  ?" 

She  smiled.    "No,  I'm  not  plighted." 

"Ah !"  he  chortled,  and  seized  both  her  hands,  put 
ting  them  to  his  lips.  She  stood  over  him,  looking 
down  tenderly. 

"Time  for  your  broth,  Mr.  Hambleton,  and  Mr. 
Straker  wants  to  know  if  he  can  see  you,"  inter 
rupted  Mr.  Hand. 

"Can't  see  him,  Andy.  I'm  very  busy,"  began 
Jim ;  then  added,  "By  the  way,  who  is  Mr.  Straker  ?" 

"Tell  him  he  may  come  in  for  a  few  minutes,  Mr. 
Hand,"  directed  Agatha.  Presently  the  manager 
was  being  introduced  in  the  properest  manner  to 
the  invalid.  Agatha,  knowing  James  would  need 
protection  from  quizzing,  stayed  by. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  wheedled  Mr.  Straker,  "the  whole 
story  just  exactly  as  it  happened  to  you,  please.  It's 
yery  important  that  I  should  know  all  the  details." 

So  Jimmy,  aided  now  and  then  by  Agatha,  de 
livered  a  Straker-ized  version  of  the  wreck  and  the 
arrival  at  Ilion. 

"But  before  that,"  questioned  the  manager.  "How 
did  you  happen  to  be  on  the  Jeanne  D'Arc?" 

For  the  first  time  James  hesitated.     Not  even 


332  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Agatha  knew  that  part  of  the  story.  "I  was  picked 
up  by  the  Jeanne  D'Arc  in  New  York  harbor,"  he 
replied  slowly. 

Mr.  Straker  frowned.    "How — picked  up?" 

"Out  of  the  water." 

"What  were  you  in  the  water  for  ?" 

"I  had  just  dropped  off  a  tug." 

"What  for?" 

"Because  I  wanted  the  yacht  to  pick  me  up." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Straker  directed  a  commiserat 
ing  look  at  Agatha.  It  said  "Crazy"  as  plain  as 
words. 

"What  were  you  on  the  tug  for?" 

"I  had  followed  the  yacht." 

"What  for?" 

The  pause  before  James's  next  answer  was  ap 
parent.  When  it  came,  there  came  with  it  that  same 
seven-year-old  look  of  smiling  ingenuousness.  "I 
just  wanted  to  see  what  they  were  going  to  do  with 
Miss  Redmond." 

"Jimminy  Christmas!"  exploded  Mr.  Straker. 
"Any  more  kinks  in  this  story?  How'd  you  know 
they'd  stolen  Miss  Redmond  ?" 

And  so  Jimmy  had  to  tell  it  all,  with  the  abomin 
able  Straker  growing  more  and  more  excited  every 


JIMMY   REDIVIVUS  333 

minute,  and  Agatha  standing  mute  and  awe-struck, 
looking  at  him.  It  was  plain  that  Jimmy,  for  the 
moment,  had  the  upper  hand.  "And  that's  about 
all!"  he  laughed. 

"What  on  earth,  man,  is  the  matter  with  you?" 
fumed  Straker.  "Didn't  you  know  there  were  a 
hundred  chances  to  one  the  yacht  wouldn't  pick  you 
up?" 

Jimmy  nodded,  unabashed.  "One  chance  is  good 
enough  for  me.  Nothing  can  kill  me  this  trip,  I  tell 
you.  I'm  good  for  anything.  Lucky  star's  over  me. 
I  knew  it  all  the  time." 

Straker  turned  a  disgusted  face  toward  Agatha. 
"He's  crazy  as  a  loon!  Isn't  he?"  he  questioned 
glumly.  But  Jimmy  knew  his  man. 

"No,  not  crazy,  Mr.  Straker.  Only  a  touch  o' 
sun !  And  it's  glorious,  isn't  it,  Miss  Redmond  ?" 

She  loved  him  for  his  boyish  laughter,  for  the  rol 
licking  spirit  in  his  voice,  but  her  eyes  suddenly  filled 
as  she  pondered  the  meaning  back  of  his  extraor 
dinary  story.  With  Mr.  Straker  gone  at  last,  it  was 
she  who  came  to  Jim  with  outstretched  hands. 

"You  mean  you  heard  me  call  for  help,  there  on 
the  hill?" 

"Yep,"  he  answered,  suddenly  sheepish. 


334  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"And  you  followed  to  rescue  me  if  you  could?" 

"Yep—of  course." 

"Ah,  James !    Why  did  you  do  it  ?" 

Jim's  small-boy  expression  beamed  from  his  eyes. 
"I  followed  the  Voice  and  the  Face — as  I  told  you 
once  before.  Don't  you  remember?" 

"I  remember.    But  why  ?" 

His  seven-year-old  mood  was  suddenly  touched 
with  poetic  dignity.  "I  could  naught  else,"  he  said, 
looking  into  her  face.  It  was  all  tenderness ;  and  she 
did  not  resist  when  he  drew  her  gently  down,  till  her 
lips  touched  his. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  MAN  OF  NO  PRINCIPLE 

TV  /TONSIEUR  CHATELARD'S  disappearance 
*•*'+•  was  as  complete  as  though  he  had  dropped  off 
the  earth.  The  sheriff,  with  his  warrant  in  his 
pocket,  hid  his  chagrin  behind  the  sugar  and  flour 
barrels  whose  sale  occupied  his  time  when  he  wasn't 
losing  malefactors.  Chamberlain,  having  once 
freed  his  mind  to  the  grave-like  Hand,  maintained 
absolute  silence  on  the  subject,  so  far  as  the  audience 
at  the  old  red  house  was  concerned.  But  he  went 
into  consultation  with  Aleck,  and  together  they  laid 
a  network  of  police  inspection  about  Ilion  and 
Charlesport. 

"It  won't  do  any  good/'  grumbled  Chamberlain. 
"We'll  have  to  catch  him  and  choke  him  with  our 
own  hands,  if  it  ever  gets  done." 

Nevertheless,  they  left  nothing  to  chance.  Tele 
graph  and  telephone  were  brought  into  requisition, 
and  within  twenty-four  hours  after  the  disappear- 

335 


336  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

ance  every  station  on  the  railroad,  as  well  as  every 
village  along  the  coast,  was  warned  to  arrest  the  fugi 
tive  if  he  came  that  way.  Mr.  Chamberlain  took  the 
white  motor  and  went  off  on  long,  mysterious  jour 
neys,  coming  back  only  to  go  into  secret  conclave 
with  Aleck,  or  mysteriously  to  rush  off  again. 

Aleck  Van  Camp  stayed  at  home,  keeping  a  dog 
watch  on  Melanie  and  Madame  Reynier,  whether 
they  were  at  the  Hillside  or  at  the  old  red  house. 
Now  that  the  purposes  of  the  Frenchman  had  been 
made  clear,  and  since  he  was  still  at  large,  the  world 
was  no  safe  place  for  unattended  women.  Aleck 
pondered  deeply  over  the  situation. 

"Is  your  amiable  cousin's  henchman  a  man  to  be 
scared  off  by  our  recent  little  encounter,  do  you 
think?"  he  asked  of  Melanie. 

She  considered.  "He  might  be  scared,  easily 
enough.  But  I  know  well  that  he  has  a  contempt 
for  the  usual  machinery  of  the  law.  He  has  evaded 
it  so  many  times  that  he  thinks  it  an  easy  matter." 

Aleck  smiled  whimsically.  "I  don't  wonder  at 
that,  if  he  has  had  many  experiences  like  the  last." 

"He  boasts  that  he  can  bribe  anybody." 

"Ah,  so!  But  how  much  rope  would  the  duke 
give  him,  do  you  think,  on  a  pinch  ?" 


rA   MAN   OF.   NO    PRINCIPLE       337 

"All  the  rope  he  cares  to  take.  Stephen's  protec 
tion  is  all-powerful  in  Krolvetz ;  and  elsewhere  Chat- 
elard  depends,  as  I  have  said,  on  his  wits." 

"But  there  must  be  some  limit  to  the  duke's 
stretch  of  conscience !" 

Melanie's  eyes  took  on  their  far-away  look.  "Per 
haps  there  is,"  she  said  at  last,  "but  who  can  guess 
where  that  limit  is?  Besides,  all  he  asks  of  his 
henchmen  is  results.  He  never  inquires  as  to 
methods." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  is  the  exact  result 
Duke  Stephen  wants,  in  this  case?" 

"He  wants  me  either  to  return  to  Krolvetz  and 
marry  his  brother,  or— 

Melanie's  hesitation  was  prolonged. 

"Or— what?' 

"Or  to  disappear  so  completely  that  there  will  be 
no  question  of  my  return.  You  see,  it's  a  peculiar 
case.  If  I  marry  without  his  consent — " 

"Which  you  are  about  to  do — "  cut  in  Aleck. 

"I  simply  forfeit  my  estates  and  they  go  into  the 
public  treasury,  where  they  will  be  strictly  accounted 
for.  But  if  I  marry  Lorenzo — " 

"Which  is  impossible — " 

"Then  the  money  goes  into  the  family,  of  course, 


338  ,THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

as  my  dot.  Or — or,  if  I  should  die — in  that  case 
Stephen  inherits  the  money.  And  there  is  no  doubt 
but  that  Stephen  needs  money." 

Aleck  pondered  for  several  minutes,  while  grave 
shadows  threatened  his  face.  But  presently  his 
smiling,  unquenchable  good  temper  came  to  the  sur 
face,  and  he  gleefully  tucked  Melanie's  hand  under 
his  arm. 

"As  I  said  before,  you  need  a  husband  very 
badly." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  laughed. 

The  result  of  Aleck's  moment  of  grave  thought 
came  a  few  days  later,  with  the  arrival  of  two 
quietly-dressed,  unostentatious  men.  He  told  Me- 
lanie  that  one  man  was  her  chauffeur  for  the  white 
machine,  and  the  other  was  an  extra  hand  he  had  en 
gaged  for  the  return  trip  on  the  Sea  Gull.  The 
chauffeur,  however,  for  one  reason  or  another, 
rarely  took  the  wheel,  and  could  have  been  seen 
walking  at  a  distance  behind  Melanie  whenever  she 
stirred  abroad.  The  extra  hand  for  the  Sea  Gull 
did  just  the  same  as  the  chauffeur. 

From  the  day  of  the  arrival  of  the  manager,  Mr. 
Hand's  rather  mysterious  but  friendly  temper  un 
derwent  a  change  for  the  worse.  He  not  only  con- 


A    MAN    OF    NO    PRINCIPLE        339 

tinued  silent,  which  might  easily  be  counted  a  virtue, 
but  he  became  almost  sulky,  which  could  only  be 
called  a  crime.  There  was  no  bantering  with  Sallie 
in  the  kitchen,  scarcely  a  friendly  smile  for  Agatha 
herself.  Mr.  Hand  was  markedly  out  of  sorts. 

On  the  morning  following  Mr.  Straker's  request 
that  Hand  should  repair  the  car,  the  manager  found 
him  tinkering  in  the  carriage  shed  near  the  church. 
The  car  was  jacked  up  on  a  horse-block,  while  one 
wheel  lay  near  the  road.  Mr.  Hand  was  as  grimy 
and  oily  as  the  law  allows,  working  over  the  ma 
chinery  with  a  sort  of  vicious  earnestness.  Mr. 
Straker  hovered  around  for  a  few  moments,  then 
addressed  Hand  in  that  tone  of  pseudo-geniality 
that  marks  a  certain  type  of  politician. 

"Look  here,  Colonel,  I  understand  you  were  in 
the  employ  of  that  French  anarchist." 

It  was  an  unlucky  moment  for  attack,  though  Mr. 
Straker  did  not  at  once  perceive  it.  Hand  carefully 
wiped  the  oil  from  a  neat  ring  of  metal,  slid  down 
on  his  back  under  the  car  and  screwed  on  a  nut.  As 
Mr.  Straker,  hands  in  pockets  and  feet  wide  apart, 
watched  the  mechanician,  there  came  through  the  si 
lence  and  the  sweet  air  the  sound  of  thrushes  call 
ing  from  the  wood  beyond.  Mr.  Straker  craned  his 


340  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

head  to  look  out  at  the  church,  then  at  the  low  stone 
wall,  as  if  he  expected  to  see  the  songsters  perform 
ing  on  a  stage  before  a  row  of  footlights.  He  turned 
back  to  Mr.  Hand. 

"That's  right,  is  it  ?  You  worked  for  the  slippery 
Mounseer?" 

"Uh-m,"  Hand  grumbled,  with  a  screw  in  his 
mouth.  "Something  like  that." 

"What  'd  you  do?" 

"I've  found  where  she  was  wrenched  in  the  turn 
over.  Got  to  have  a  new  pin  for  this  off  wheel  be 
fore  she  goes  much  farther." 

"All  right,  I'll  order  one  by  telegraph  to-day. 
What  'd  you  do,  I  asked." 

Hand  wriggled  himself  out  from  under  the  car 
and  got  on  his  feet.  He  thrust  his  grimy  hands  deep 
into  his  pockets,  stood  for  a  moment  contemplative 
and  belligerent,  as  if  undecided  whether  to  explode 
or  not,  and  then  silently  walked  away. 

As  Mr.  Straker  watched  his  figure  moving  slowly 
toward  the  kitchen,  he  started  a  long  low  whistle, 
expressive  of  suspicion  and  doubt.  Midway,  how 
ever,  he  changed  to  a  lively  tune  whose  title  was 
"I've  got  him  on  the  run" — a  classic  just  then 
spreading  up  and  down  Broadway.  He  took  a  few 


A   MAN   OF   NO   PRINCIPLE       341 

turns  about  the  car,  looked  at  the  gearing  with  a 
knowing  air,  and  then  went  into  the  house. 

If  he  had  been  a  small  boy,  his  mother  would  have 
punished  him  for  stamping  through  the  halls ;  being 
a  grown  man  and  a  visitor,  he  may  be  described  as 
walking  with  firm,  bold  tread.  Finally  he  was  able 
to  run  down  Agatha,  who  was  conferring  with  Sal- 
lie  in  the  library. 

Sallie  sniffed  in  scorn  of  Mr.  Straker,  whom  she 
disliked  far  worse  than  Mr.  Hand;  nevertheless,  as 
she  left  the  room  she  twisted  up  her  gingham  apron 
and  tucked  it  into  its  band  in  a  vague  attempt  at 
company  manners.  Mr.  Straker  lost  no  time  in  at 
tacking  Agatha. 

"What  d'you  know  about  that  chauffeur-nurse 
and  general  roustabout  that's  taking  care  of  your 
young  gentleman  up-stairs?"  he  inquired  bluntly. 

Innocent  of  subtlety  as  Mr.  Straker  was,  he  was 
nevertheless  keen  enough  to  see  that  Agatha's  in 
stincts  took  alarm  at  his  words.  Indeed,  one  skilled 
in  reading  her  face  could  have  detected  the  nature 
of  the  uneasiness  written  there.  She  could  not  lie 
again,  as  she  had  unhesitatingly  lied  to  the  sheriff; 
neither  could  she  abandon  her  position  as  protector 
to  Mr.  Hand.  She  wished  for  cleverness  of  the  sort 


342  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

that  could  throw  her  manager  off  the  scent,  but  saw 
no  way  other  than  the  direct  way. 

"Nothing — I  know  almost  nothing  about  him." 

"Comes  from  N'York?" 

"I  fancy  so." 

"Well,  take  it  from  me,  the  sooner  you  get  rid 
of  him  the  better.  Chances  are  he's  a  man  of  no 
principle,  and  he'll  do  you." 

Agatha  was  silent.  Meantime  Mr.  Straker  got 
his  second  wind. 

"Of  course  he  knows  what  he's  about  when  it 
comes  to  a  machine,"  the  manager  continued,  "but 
mark  me,  he  knows  too  much  for  an  honest  man. 
Looks  to  me  as  if  there  wasn't  anything  on  this 
green  earth  he  can't  do." 

"Green  ocean,  too — he's  quite  as  much  at  home 
there,"  laughed  Agatha. 

"Humph!"  Mr.  Straker  grunted  in  disgust.  "Let 
me  assure  you,  Miss  Redmond,  that  it's  no  joking 
matter." 

Tradition  to  the  contrary,  Agatha  was  content 
to  let  the  man  have  the  last  word.  Mr.  Straker 
turned  to  some  business  matters,  wrote  out  tele 
graphic  material  enough  to  occupy  the  leisurely 


A   MAN    OF   NO    PRINCIPLE       343 

Charlesport  operator  for  some  hours,  and  then  dis 
appeared. 

Agatha  was  impressed  by  the  manager's  words 
somewhat  more  than  her  manner  implied.  She  had 
no  swift  and  sure  judgment  of  people,  and  her  ex 
perience  of  the  world,  short  as  it  was,  had  taught 
her  that  recklessness  is  a  costly  luxury.  She  was 
meditating  as  to  the  wisest  course  to  pursue,  when 
the  ex-chauffeur  appeared. 

Hand  wore  his  accustomed  loose  shirt  and  trou 
sers  without  coat  or  waistcoat,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
he  had  never  known  a  hat.  His  thick  hair  was  tum 
bled  back  from  the  forehead.  His  hands  were  now 
spotless,  and  his  whole  appearance  agreeably  clean 
and  wholesome.  He  even  looked  as  if  he  were  go 
ing  to  be  frank,  but  Agatha  knew  that  must  be  a 
delusion.  It  was  impossible,  however,  not  to  be 
somewhat  cajoled — he  was  so  eminently  likable. 
Agatha  took  a  lesson  from  his  own  book,  and  waited 
in  silence  for  him  to  speak. 

"Mademoiselle?"  His  voice  had  an  undertone  of 
excitement  or  nervousness  that  was  wholly  new. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hand?" 

He  remained  standing  by  the  door  for  a  moment, 


344  THE   STOLEN   SINGER 

then  stepped  forward  with  the  abrupt  manner  of  a 
stripling  who,  usually  inarticulate,  has  suddenly 
found  tongue. 

"Why  did  you  do  it,  Mademoiselle  ?" 

"Do  what,  my  friend?" 

"Back  me  up  before  the  sheriff.  Give  me  a  slick 
walkout  like  that." 

Agatha  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"Why  should  I  answer  your  questions,  Mr.  Hand, 
when  you  so  persistently  ignore  mine?" 

Hand  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Mademoiselle,  you  may  think  me  all  kinds  of  a 
scamp,  but  I'm  not  idiot  enough  to  hide  behind  a 
woman.  Don't  you  know  me  well  enough  to  know 
that?"  he  demanded  so  earnestly  that  he  seemed 
very  cross. 

:  Agatha  looked  into  his  face  with  a  new  curiosity. 
He  was  very  young,  after  all.  Something  in  the  way 
of  experience  had  been  grinding  philosophy,  of  a 
sort,  into  him — or  out  of  him.  Wealth  and  position 
had  been  his  natural  enemies,  and  he  had  somehow 
been  led  to  an  attitude  of  antagonism  that  was,  at 
bottom,  quite  foreign  to  his  nature. 

So  much  Agatha  could  guess  at,  and  for  the  rest, 
instinct  taught  her  to  be  kind.  But  she  was  not  will- 


A    MAN    OF    NO    PRINCIPLE       345 

ing  now  to  take  him  quite  so  seriously  as  he  seemed 
to  be  taking  himself.  She  couldn't  resist  teasing  him 
a  bit,  by  saying,  "Nevertheless,  Mr.  Hand,  you  did 
hide  behind  me;  you  had  to." 

He  did  not  reply  to  her  bantering  smile,  but,  in 
the  pause  that  followed,  stepped  to  the  bookcase 
where  she  had  been  standing,  gingerly  picked  up  a 
soft  bit  of  linen  and  lace  from  the  floor  and  dropped 
it  into  her  lap.  Then  he  faced  her  in  an  attitude  of 
pugnacious  irritation.  For  a  brief  moment  his  si 
lence  fell  from  him. 

"I  didn't  have  to,"  he  contradicted.  "I  let  it  go 
because  I  thought  you  were  a  good  sport,  and  you 
wouldn't  catch  me  backing  out  of  your  game,  not  by 
a  good  deal!  But  there's  a  darned  sight, — pardon 
me,  Mademoiselle! — there's  too  much  company 
round  here  to  suit  me !  You  know  me,  you  know  you 
can  trust  me,  Mademoiselle !  But  what  about  Tom, 
Dick  and  Harry  all  over  this  place — casting  eyes  at 
a  man  ?" 

Agatha,  almost  against  her  will,  was  forced  to 
meet  his  seriousness  half-way.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  mean,"  she  said. 

"Tell  'em!"  he  burst  out.  "Tell  'em  the  whole 
story.  Tell  that  blamed  snoopin'  manager  that  I'm 


346  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

a  crook  and  a  kidnapper,  and  then  he'll  stop  nosing 
round  after  me.  I'll  have  an  hour's  start,  and  that's 
all  I  want.  Dogging  a  man — running  him  down  un 
der  his  own  automobile!"  Hand  permitted  himself 
a  dry  smile  at  his  own  joke,  but  immediately  added, 
"It  goes  against  the  grain,  Mademoiselle!" 

Agatha's  face  brightened,  as  she  grasped  the  clue 
to  Hand's  wrath.  "I've  no  doubt,"  she  answered 
gravely.  She  knew  the  manager.  "But  why  should 
I  tell  him,  as  you  suggest  ?" 

"Why?"  Hand  stopped  a  moment,  as  if  baffled  at 
the  difficulty  of  putting  such  obvious  philosophy  into 
words.  "Why  ?  Because  that's  the  way  people  are — 
never  satisfied  till  they  uncover  and  root  up  every 
blamed  thing  in  a  man's  life.  Yes,  Mademoiselle, 
you  know  it's  true.  They'll  always  be  uneasy  with 
me  around." 

Agatha  was  aware  that  when  a  man  utters  what 
he  considers  to  be  a  general  truth,  it  is  useless  to 
enter  the  field  of  argument. 

"Suppose  you  do  have  'an  hour's  start/  as  you  ex 
press  it.  Where  would  you  go  ?" 

"Oh,  I'll  look  about  for  a  while.  After  that  I'm 
going  to  Mr.  Hambleton  in  Lynn.  He's  going  to 
have  a  new  car." 


"A   MAN   OF   NO    PRINCIPLE       347 

"Ah!"  Agatha  suddenly  saw  light.  "Then  there's 
only  one  thing.  Mr.  Hambleton  must  know  the 
truth.  It  can  concern  no  one  else.  Will  you  tell 
him?" 

Mr.  Hand  produced  his  dry  smile.  "Nobody  has 
to  tell  Mr.  Hambleton  anything.  He  looked  straight 
into  my  face  that  day  on  the  hill,  as  we  were  leaving 
the  park." 

"And  he  remembers?" 

Something  strange  in  Hand's  expression  arrested 
Agatha's  attention,  long  before  he  found  tongue  to 
answer.  It  was  a  look  of  happiness  and  pride,  as  if 
he  owned  a  treasure.  "He  remembers  very  well, 
Mademoiselle." 

"And  what—?" 

"You  can't  help  but  be  square  with  him,  Made 
moiselle.  But  as  for  these  gentlemen  of  style — " 

Hand  paused  in  his  oratory,  his  slow  anger  again 
burning  on  the  surface.  Before  Agatha  knew  what 
he  was  about,  he  had  picked  up  the  handkerchief 
from  her  lap  between  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  was 
holding  it  at  arm's  length. 

"You  can't  squeeze  a  man's  history  out  of  him, 
as  you  squeeze  water  out  of  a  handkerchief,  Made 
moiselle,"  he  flared  out.  "And  you  can't  drop  him 


348  THE    STOLEN   SINGER 

and  pick  him  up  again,  nor  throw  him  down.   You 
can't  do  that  with  a  man,  Mademoiselle !" 

He  tossed  the  flimsy  linen  back  into  her  lap.  "And 
I  don't  want  any  dealings  with  your  Strakers — nor 
gentlemen  of  that  stamp." 

"NorChatelards?" 

•     "He's  slick — slick  as  they  make  'em.  But  he  isn't 
an  inquisitive  meddler." 

Agatha  laughed  outright;  and  somehow,  by  the 
blessed  alchemy  of  amusement,  the  air  was  cleared 
and  Mr.  Hand's  trouble  faded  out  of  importance. 
But  Agatha  could  not  let  him  go  without  one  fur 
ther  word.  She  met  his  gaze  with  a  straightforward 
look,  as  she  asked :  "Tell  me,  have  I  failed  to  treat 
you  as  a  friend,  Mr.  Hand?" 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle!"  he  cried;  and  there  was  a 
touch  of  shame  and  compunction  in  his  voice.  As 
he  stood  before  Agatha,  she  was  reminded  of  his 
shamed  and  cowed  appearance  in  the  cove,  on  the 
day  of  their  rescue,  when  he  had  waited  for  her 
anger  to  fall  on  him.  She  saw  that  he  had  gained 
something,  some  intangible  bit  of  manliness  and 
dignity,  won  during  these  weeks  of  service  in  her 
house.  And  she  guessed  rightly  that  it  was  due  to 
the  man  whom  he  had  so  ungrudgingly  nursed. 


A   MAN   OF   NO    PRINCIPLE       349 

"I'm  glad  you  are  going  to  Lynn,  to  be  with  Mr. 
Hambleton,"  she  said  at  last.  "As  long  as  he  is 
your  friend,  I  shall  be  your  friend,  too,  and  never 
uneasy.  You  may  count  on  that.  And  now  will  you 
do  me  another  kindness?" 

"I'll  put  that  old  racing-car  in  order,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  Of  course." 

"As  soon  as  possible.  But  it  would  seem  that 
from  now  on  you  are  accountable  to  no  one  but 
Mr.  Hambleton." 

"I'm  his  man,"  said  Mr.  Hand  simply.  "I'd  do 
anything  for  him."  He  turned  away  with  his  old- 
time  puzzling  manner,  half  deferential,  half  indif 
ferent. 

And  so  Mr.  Straker  was  ready  to  depart  for  New 
York  at  last,  leaving  Agatha,  much  against  his  will, 
to  "complete  her  recovery"  at  Ilion.  At  least,  that 
was  the  way  he  felt  in  duty  bound  to  put  it. 

"You  have  found  a  substitute  now,"  Agatha 
urged.  "It  is  only  fair  to  let  her  have  a  chance.  A 
week,  more  or  less,  can  not  make  any  difference,  now 
that  I've  broken  so  many  engagements  already.  I'll 
come  back  later  and  make  a  fresh  start." 

"You  stay  up  here  and  New  York'll  forget  you're 
living!"  growled  Mr.  Straker. 


350  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Not  if  you  continue  to  be  my  manager,"  said 
Agatha. 

"If  I'm  to  be  your  manager,  I  ought  never  to  let 
you  out  of  my  sight  for  a  minute.  It's  too  danger- 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

JIMMY   MUFFS   THE   BALL 

TT  will  sometimes  happen  that  young  gentlemen, 

skipping  confident,  even  under  their  lucky  star, 
will  get  a  fall.  Fortune  had  been  too  constant  to 
Jimmy  not  to  be  ready  to  turn  her  fickle  face  away 
the  moment  he  wasn't  looking.  But  such  is  the  rash 
ness  born  of  success  and  a  bounding  heart,  that 
young  blood  leaps  to  its  doom,  smiling,  as  it  were, 
on  the  faithless  lady's  back. 

Jimmy  had  no  forebodings,  but  rioted  gorgeously 
in  returning  health,  in  a  whole  pack  of  new  emo 
tions,  and  in  what  he  supposed  to  be  his  lady's  favor. 
Aleck,  more  philosophical,  took  his  happiness  with 
a  more  quiet  gusto,  not  provoking  the  frown  of  the 
gods.  But  for  Jim  the  day  of  reckoning  was  coming. 

One  day  Aleck  joined  him,  walking  up  and  down 
the  porch.  Jim  was  in  one  of  his  boyish,  cocksure 
moods. 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,"  he  began,  be- 
351 


352  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

fore  Aleck  could  spring  his  news.  "You're  going 
to  marry  the  princess." 

"Just  so,"  said  Aleck.  "How'd  you  know?  Clair 
voyance?" 

"Nope." 

"Well,  you  needn't  look  so  high  and  mighty  about 
it,  old  man.  Why  don't  you  do  the  same  thing  your 
self  ?  Then  we'll  have  a  double  wedding." 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  said  Jim. 

As  the  two  men  talked,  Agatha  and  Melanie, 
both  dressed  in  white,  strolled  side  by  side  down  the 
garden  path  toward  the  wall.  They  were  deep  in 
conversation,  their  backs  turned  toward  the  veranda. 

"I  don't  see  that  they  look  so  much  alike,"  an 
nounced  Jim,  who  had  but  recently  learned  all  the 
causes  and  effects  of  the  Chatelard  business.  Aleck's 
eyes  gleamed. 

"Which  one,  as  they  stand  there  now,  do  you  take 
to  be  Miss  Redmond  ?"  he  asked. 

"One  on  the  left,"  answered  Jim  promptly. 

Aleck  gave  a  signaling  whistle  which  caused  both 
the  women  quickly  to  turn.  Agatha  was  on  the  right. 

Aleck  grinned  broadly.  "So  that  Yahoo  of  a 
Frenchman  wasn't  so  stupid  after  all." 

"I'd  like  to  get  my  hands  on  him !"  muttered  Jim. 


JIMMY   MUFFS   THE    BALL         353 

"Frenchman  or  not,  there's  going  to  be  a  wedding 
right  here  in  the  old  red  house  on  Wednesday,"  said 
Aleck. 

"Hoopla !    I  knew  that  was  it !" 

"And  then  Melanie  and  I  are  going  to  cruise  back 
to  New  York.  Awfully  sorry — but  you're  not  in 
vited." 

"You  couldn't  get  me  aboard  any  gilt-edged  yacht 
that  floats !" 

At  Jimmy's  words — wholly  untrue,  by  the  way — 
Aleck's  happy  mood  suddenly  dimmed,  as  he  thought 
of  the  dangers  and  anxieties  of  the  past  month.  He 
turned  and  laid  an  arm,  boy-fashion,  over  Jim's 
shoulder,  pulling  his  hair  as  his  hand  went  by. 

"You're  a  fool  of  a  kid !"  he  said,  choking. 

When  Jim  looked  into  his  cousin's  face,  he  knew. 
"Oh,  I  say,  old  man,  it  wasn't  so  bad  as  all  that." 

Aleck  stiffened  up.  "Who  said  anything  about  its 
being  bad?  You'd  better  get  some  togs  to  wear  at 
the  wedding.  I'm  going  to  need  these  clothes  my 
self." 

It  turned  out,  actually  enough,  that  the  wedding 
was  to  come  off  on  a  certain  Wednesday  in  Sep 
tember. 

"Would  you  like  New  York  and  a  bishop  and  a 


354  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

big  church  betten  than  the  old  red  house  and  the 
Charlesport  minister?'*  Aleck  anxiously  asked  of 
Melanie. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  protested ;  and  Aleck  knew  she  was 
sincere.  So  they  prepared  to  terminate  their  holi 
days  by  celebrating  the  wedding  in  the  pine  grove. 
Melanie  spent  the  intervening  days  happily  with 
Agatha,  or  walking  with  Aleck,  or  with  the  delight 
ful  group  that  foregathered  in  Parson  Thayer's  li 
brary.  Jimmy  made  extravagant  and  highly  colored 
verses  to  the  bride-to-be,  to  Sallie  Kingsbury,  and 
even  to  himself.  His  feet  were  often  lame,  but  he 
solemnly  assured  the  company  that  it  was  entirely 
due  to  circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control. 
A  wedding  was  a  wedding,  said  he,  and  should  have 
its  bard ;  also  its  dancers  and  its  minstrels. 

"We'll  have  all  our  friends  in  Ilion,  anyway/' 
said  Aleck.  They  counted  up  the  list.  Besides  the 
occupants  of  the  house  and  those  from  the  Hillside, 
there  would  be  Doctor  Thayer,  Susan  Stoddard  and 
Angie,  Big  and  Little  Simon,  and  the  lawyer. 

"And  they're  all  going  to  dance  with  the  bride," 
announced  Jim.  "After  me.  I'm  first  choice." 

"A  dance  led,  so  to  speak,  by  the  elusive  Monsieur 
Chatelard?" 


JIMMY    MUFFS    THE    BALL        355 

The  name  alone  made  Jimmy  wroth.  "It's  a  dance 
for  which  he  will  pay  the  fiddler  yet !"  he  prophesied. 

"Oh,  he's  gone  this  time.  Scared  out  of  the  coun 
try  for  keeps!"  was  Aleck's  expressed  opinion.  But 
that  it  might  or  might  not  be  so,  was  what  they  all 
secretly  thought. 

The  day  before  the  wedding  was  a  jewel  of  a  day, 
such  as  New  England  at  her  best  can  fling  into  the 
lap  of  early  autumn.  A  wind  from  the  sea,  flocks 
of  white  cloud  scudding  across  the  sapphire  sky, 
and  a  sun  all  kindness — such  was  the  day.  It  was 
never  a  "weather  breeder"  either ;  but  steady,  prom 
ising  good  for  the  morrow. 

Many  times  during  the  week  James  and  Chamber 
lain  and  Agatha  had  their  heads  together,  planning 
surprises  for  the  bridal  pair.  The  result  was  that  on 
Tuesday  Jim  and  Chamberlain  borrowed  the  white 
motor-car,  loaded  it  down  with  a  large  variety  of 
junk,  such  as  food  from  Sallie's  kitchen,  flowers 
and  so  on,  and  started  for  Charlesport.  They  ran 
down  to  the  wharf,  transferred  their  loot  to  the 
rowboat,  and  pulled  out  to  the  Sea  Gull,  swinging 
at  her  mooring  in  deep  water. 

A  half -hour  of  work,  and  the  yacht  was  dressed 
for  festival.  There  were  strings  of  flags  to  stretch 


356  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

from  bow  to  masthead  and  to  stern;  pennants  for 
topmasts;  the  Stars  and  Stripes  in  beautiful  silk  for 
a  standard,  and  a  gorgeous  banner  with  an  embroi 
dered  A  and  M  intertwined,  for  special  occasions. 
Flowers  were  placed  in  the  cabins,  and  food  in  the 
lockers.  The  seamen  had  been  aboard,  made  the 
yacht  clean  and  shipshape  as  a  war  vessel  on  parade, 
and  had  got  permission  to  leave  for  their  last  night 
ashore.  Everything  was  in  readiness,  even  to  the 
laying  of  the  fire  in  the  engine  hold. 

The  bride  and  groom  were  to  come  aboard  the 
next  day  about  noon,  and  cruise  down  the  coast 
leisurely,  as  weather  permitted.  Hand,  in  charge 
of  the  white  motor-car,  with  Madame  Reynier, 
Chamberlain,  Agatha  and  Jimmy,  were  to  start  for 
New  York,  touring  as  long  as  their  inclination 
lasted.  The  sophisticated  Lizzie  was  to  travel  to 
what  was,  for  her,  the  center  of  the  universe,  by  the 
fastest  Pullman. 

Jimmy  and  Chamberlain,  on  the  way  home  from 
their  visit  to  the  Sea  Gull,  came  very  near  being  con 
fidential. 

"I  want  to  say,  Mr.  Hambleton,  that  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself  for  bungling  about  that  Chatelard 
business." 


JIMMY   MUFFS    THE   BALL         357 

"As  I  understand  the  matter,  it  wasn't  your  bung 
ling,  but  the  sheriff's." 

"It's  all  the  same,"  conceded  Mr.  Chamberlain 
mournfully.  "And  in  my  opinion,  the  Frenchman's 
not  done  with  his  tricks  yet.  He's  a  dangerous  char 
acter,  Mr.  Hambleton." 

Jim  laughed,  remembering  certain  incidents  on 
the  Jeanne  D'Arc. 

"Do  you  know,"  Chamberlain  continued,  "I'm 
convinced  the  bloomin'  beggar  is  hiding  about  here 
somewhere.  I'm  glad  Aleck  is  getting  away." 

"I  thought  the  evidence  favored  the  theory  that 
Chatelard  had  made  straight  for  New  York." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Aleck  and  I  let  you  all  be 
lieve  that,  for  the  sake  of  the  ladies.  But  the  evi 
dence  is  all  the  other  way.  We  would  surely  have 
caught  him  if  he  had  been  on  any  of  the  New  York 
trains.  I  believe  he's  about  here  and  means  mis 
chief  yet." 

"If  he's  about  here,  there's  no  doubt  about  the 
mischief." 

"I'm  going  down  to-night  to  bunt  on  the  'Sea 
Gull.  Aleck  let  the  men  off,  to  go  to  a  sailor's  dance 
over  on  one  of  the  islands.  They'll  probably  be  at 
it  all  night,  so  I'm  going  back." 


358  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"Why  not  let  me  go?  I'm  fine  as  a  fiddle.  You've 
had  your  full  share  of  nasty  detective  work." 

"Not  at  all.  I'm  booked  to  see  this  thing  through." 

"All  right!"  laughed  Jimsy.  "But  if  you  change 
your  mind,  let  me  know." 

Arriving  at  the  house,  the  men  found  it  deserted. 
Windows  were  open  and  doors  unlatched,  but  no 
one,  not  even  Danny,  responded  to  Jim's  call.  Cham 
berlain  started  for  the  Hillside  in  the  car,  and  Jim 
wandered  about  lonesomely,  wondering  where  every 
body  was.  With  Jim,  as  in  most  cases,  everybody 
meant  one  person;  and  presently  Sallie,  appearing 
slowly  from  the  upper  regions,  gave  him  his  clue. 
He  started  nimbly  for  the  pine  wood. 

The  wagon  road  stretched  alluringly  into  the  sun- 
flecked  shade  of  the  grove.  A  hush  like  that  of 
primeval  day  threw  its  uncanny  influence  over  the 
world.  Jim  felt  something  tugging  at  his  spirit  that 
was  unfamiliar,  disquieting.  He  began  to  whistle 
just  for  company,  and  in  a  moment,  as  if  at  a  sig 
nal  call,  Danny  came  along  the  path,  sedately  trot 
ting  to  meet  him. 

"Hullo,  old  pardner!    So  this  is  where  you  are." 

Danny  said  yes,  and  led  Jim  into  the  clearing  and 
up  to  a  pine  stump,  where  everybody  sat,  quite  alone, 


JIMMY    MUFFS    THE   BALL         359 

chin  propped  on  hand.  No  singing,  no  book,  and — 
or  did  Jimmy  imagine  it? — a  spirit  decidedly 
quenched.  Her  eyelids  were  red  and  her  face  was 
pale. 

"So,  dear  lady,  I  have  found  you.  But  I  was 
listening  for  the  song." 

"There  is  no  song  to-day."  Agatha's  manner 
resembled  an  Arctic  breeze. 

"May  one  ask  why  ?" 

"One  can  not  always  be  singing." 

"No?    Why  not?    I  could— if  I  could." 

Agatha  was  obliged  to  relax  a  trifle  at  Jimmy's 
foolishness,  but  only  to  reveal,  more  and  more 
distinctly,  a  wretchedness  of  spirit  that  was  quite 
baffling.  It  was  not  feminine  wretchedness  waiting 
for  a  masculine  comforter,  either,  as  James  ob 
served  with  regret;  it  was  a  stoical  spirit,  braced  to 
meet  a  blow — or  to  deal  one. 

Jimmy  was  not  used  to  being  snubbed,  and  in 
stinctively  prepared  for  vigorous  protest.  He  began 
with  a  little  preliminary  diplomacy. 

"You  haven't  inquired  what  I'm  going  to  do  with 
the  remainder  of  my  holiday,"  he  remarked. 

"I  supposed  you  would  return  soon  to  Lynn. 
Shall  we  walk  back  to  the  house  ?" 


360  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

The  unkind  words  were  spoken  in  a  rare-sweet 
voice,  courteously  enough.  Jim  looked  at  the  speaker 
a  moment,  then  emphatically  said  "No !" 

"It  is  quite  time  I  was  returning." 

"Have  you  anything  there  to  do  that  is  more  im 
portant  than  listening  to  me  for  fifteen  minutes  ?" 

Agatha  did  not  pretend  not  to  understand  him. 
She  turned  toward  him  with  unflinching  eyes. 

"Truth  to  say,  yes,  Mr.  Hambleton,  I  have.  I 
don't  wish  to  listen  to — anything." 

"Oh— if  you  feel  like  that !  Your  'Mr.  Hambleton' 
is  enough  to  strike  me  dumb." 

"Believe  me,  it  is  the  best  way." 

"Again,  may  one  ask  why?" 

"You  are  going  back  to  your  own  people,  to  your 
own  work.  And  I  to  mine." 

"But  that's  the  very  point.  My  idea  was  to — to 
combine  them." 

"I  guessed  it." 

Jimmy  smiled  his  ingenuous  smile  as  he  suavely 
asked,  "And  don't  you — er — like  the  idea  ?" 

Agatha  turned  her  wretched  white  face  toward 
him.  Into  it  there  had  come  a  grim  determination 
that  left  Jimmy  quite  out  in  the  cold. 

"I  have  no  choice  in  liking  or  disliking  it,"  she 


JIMMY   MUFFS    THE   BALL        361 

said  quite  evenly.  "But  there  are  plenty  of  reasons 
why  I  can't  think  of  it.  And  you  shouldn't  think  of 
it  any  more.  I  assure  you,  you  are  making  a  mis 
take." 

She  got  up  as  if  ready  to  walk  away,  her  face 
averted. 

"Agatha!" 

At  the  name  she  turned  to  Jim,  as  much  as  to  say 
she  would  be  quite  reasonable  if  he  would  be.  But 
her  face  suddenly  flushed  gloriously. 

"Agatha,  dear,  hear  me.  I  did  not  intend  to  tell 
you  all  my  secret  to-day ;  not  until  I  should  be  .on 
neutral  ground,  so  to  speak.  But  I  can't  let  you 
leave  me  this  way." 

"You  will  have  to.  I  am  going  back  to  the  house." 

Up  to  this  point,  James  had  merely  been  playing 
tag,  as  it  were.  The  game  wasn't  really  on.  A  little 
skirmishing  on  either  side  was  in  order.  But  Aga 
tha's  last  words  were  the  call  to  action.  They  roused 
the  ghost  of  some  old  Hambleton  ancestor  who 
meant  not  to  be  beaten.  Jim  squared  himself  in  the 
middle  of  the  path,  touched  Agatha's  shoulder  with 
the  lightest,  most  respectful  finger,  and  requested: 
"But  I  would  ask  you,  as  a  special  favor,  to  stay  a 
few  minutes  longer." 


362  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Jim's  tone  left  Agatha  no  choice.  She  sat  down 
again  on  the  pine  stump,  but  she  could  not  meet 
Jimmy's  eyes.  He  stood  a  few  feet  away  from  her. 
When  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  firm  and  steady,  ring 
ing  with  earnestness.  There  was  no  doubt  now  but 
that  he  was  in  the  game  for  all  he  was  worth. 

"Agatha,  you  shall  not  turn  me  down  like  this. 
Wait  until  you  know  me  better,  and  know  yourself 
better.  You've  had  no  time  to  think  this  matter 
over,  and  it  involves  a  good  deal,  I  admit.  But  we 
have  lived  through  a  good  deal  together  in  these  few 
weeks.  I'm  here ;  I'm  here  to  stay.  You  can't  say 
now,  dear,  that  you  care  nothing  for  me — can  you?" 

"What  is  the  use  of  all  this,  I  ask!  You  will 
always  be  my  friend,  my  rescuer,  to  whom  I  am 
eternally  grateful." 

Jimmy  emitted  a  sound  halfway  between 
"Shucks"  and  "Damn"  and  swung  impatiently  clean 
round  on  his  heels. 

"Grateful  be  hanged !  I  don't  want  anybody  to  be 
grateful.  I  want  you  to  love  me — to  marry  me. 
Why,  Agatha,"  he  argued  boyishly,  his  hopes  rising 
as  he  saw  her  face  soften  a  little,  "you're  mine,  for 
I  plucked  you  out  of  the  sea.  I  had  to  have  you.  I 
guess  I  knew  it  that  Sunday,  only  it  was  'way  off, 


'You  shall  not  turn  me  down  like  this." 


JIMMY   MUFFS   THE   BALL         363 

somewhere  in  tHe  back  of  my  brain.  You're  a 
dream  I've  always  loved,  just  as  this  old  house  is. 
You're  the  woman  I  could  have  prayed  for.  I'll 
do,  I'll  be,  anything  you  wish;  I'll  change  myself 
over,  but  oh,  don't  say  you  won't  have  me.  Agatha, 
Agatha,  you  don't  know  how  much  you  mean  to 
me!" 

Before  this  speech  was  finished,  James,  according 
to  the  good  old  fashion,  was  down  on  his  knees  be 
fore  his  lady,  and  had  imprisoned  one  of  her  hands. 
Stoic  she  was,  not  to  yield!  Her  eyes  had  a  sus 
picious  moistness,  as  she  shook  her  head. 

"You  will  always  be  the  most  gallant,  unselfish 
friend  I  have  ever  known.  But — " 

"But— what?" 

"Marry  you  I  can  not." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  can  not  marry  anybody." 

Then  Jimsy  said  a  disgraceful  thing.  "You  kissed 
me  once.  Will  you  do  it  again  ?" 

At  this  impudence,  she  neither  got  angry  nor 
changed  her  mind — a  bad  sign  for  Jimmy.  She  put 
his  hand  away,' saying,  "You  must  forgive  me  the 
kiss." 

Jimmy  jumped  to  his  feet  with  another  inarticu- 


364  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

late  sound,  every  whit  as  bad  as  an  oath,  and  stood 
before  her. 

"Agatha  Redmond,  will  you  marry  me?" 

"No." 

Jim  turned  in  his  tracks  and  left  the  wood. 

Two  hours  later,  at  supper,  Jim  was  inquired  for. 

"Our  last  supper  together,  and  Mr.  Hambleton 
not  here !"  mourned  Chamberlain. 

Agatha  felt  guilty,  but  could  scarcely  confess  it. 
"You  are  all  invited  for  next  year,  you  know,"  she 
said. 

"And  we're  all  coming,"  announced  Melanie. 
"But  poor  Mr.  Hambleton  will  miss  his  supper  to 
night." 

The  "poor  Mr.  Hambleton"  struck  Agatha.  "I 
think  Mr.  Hambleton  is  doing  very  well  indeed.  I 
saw  him  start  off  for  a  walk  this  afternoon." 

"Jim's  a  chump.  Give  him  a  cold  potato,"  jeered 
Aleck. 

But  after  supper  was  over,  and  the  twilight  deep 
ened  into  darkness,  Agatha  sought  Aleck  where  she 
could  speak  with  him  alone. 

"I — I  think  Mr.  Hambleton  was  troubled  when 
he  left  here  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "Can  you 


JIMMY    MUFFS    THE   BALL        365 

think  where  he  would  be  likely  to  go?  He  is  not 
strong  enough  to  bear  much  hard  exercise  yet." 

Aleck  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"If  he  went  anywhere,  I  think  he'd  go  straight  to 
the  yacht." 

"I  feel  a  little  anxious,  someway,"  confessed  Aga 
tha. 

Chamberlain's  voice  broke  in  upon  them.  "Any 
body  ready  to  take  me  down  to  the  Sea  Gull  in  the 
car?" 

As  Aleck  started  for  the  machine,  the  anxiety  in 
Agatha's  face  perceptibly  lightened.  "And  may  I 
go  with  you?"  she  asked  eagerly. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AFTER  YOU,   MONSIEUR! 

JIM  had  no  desire  to  create  a  sensation  among  his 
friends  at  the  old  red  house;  but  as  he  left  the 
pine  grove  all  his  instincts  led  him  to  flee  in  another 
direction.  He  did  not  fully  realize  just  what  had 
happened  to  him,  but  he  was  conscious  of  having 
received  a  very  hard  jolt,  indeed.  The  house,  full 
of  happy  associations  as  it  was,  was  just  now  too 
tantalizing  a  place.  Aleck  had  won  out,  and  he  and 
Melanie  were  radiating  that  peculiar  kind  of  lover's 
joy  which  shines  on  the  eve  of  matrimony.  Jim 
wished  them  well — none  better — but  he  also  wished 
they  wouldn't  make  such  a  fuss  over  these  things. 
Get  it  done  and  out  of  the  way,  and  the  less  said 
about  it  the  better.  In  fact,  Jim's  buoyant  and  sunny 
spirit  went  into  eclipse;  he  lost  his  holiday  ardor, 
and  trudged  over  the  hill  and  into  the  shore  road  in 
a  state  of  extreme  dejection. 

But  he   lingered   on   the   way,   diverted  almost 
366 


AFTER   YOU    MONSIEUR!  367 

against  his  will  by  the  sight  of  fishing  smacks  put 
ting  into  harbor,  an  island  steamer  rounding  a  dis 
tant  cliff,  and  the  Sea  Gull  lying  motionless  just 
within  the  breakwater.  Women  may  be  unkind,  but 
a  ship  is  a  ship,  after  all.  One  can  not  nurse  the 
pain  even  of  a  shattered  heart  when  running  before 
a  stiff  wind  with  the  spinnaker  set  and  an  open  sea 
ahead. 

The  thought  decided  him.  The  sea  should  be  his 
bride.  Jim  did  not  stop  to  arrange,  at  the  moment, 
just  how  this  should  be  brought  about,  but  his  deter 
mination  was  none  the  less  firm.  He  became  senti 
mental  to  the  extent  of  reflecting,  vaguely,  that  this 
was  but  philosophic  justice.  The  sea  had  not  con 
quered  him — far  from  it;  neither  should  She  con 
quer  him.  He  would  follow  the  sea,  the  path  of 
glamour,  the  home  of  the  winged  foot  and  the  van 
ishing  sail,  the  road  to  alien  and  mysterious  lands — 

Thus  J  immy,  in  reaction  from  the  Arctic  douche 
to  which  his  emotional  self  had  been  subjected.  He 
was,  figuratively  speaking,  blue  with  the  cold,  but 
trying  valiantly  to  warm  himself. 

As  he  gazed  at  the  Sea  Gidl,  asleep  on  the  flood 
tide,  cutting  a  gallant  figure  in  the  glowing  sunset, 
he  felt  an  overmastering  longing  to  be  aboard.  He 


368  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

would  stay  on  the  yacht  until  Chamberlain  came,  at 
least;  possibly  all  night. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  on  this  point,  James 
persuaded  himself  that  he  felt  better.  Philosophy  is 
a  friend  in  need,  after  all.  Why  should  one  failure 
in  getting  one's  desires  crush  the  spirit?  He  would 
make  a  right-about-face,  travel  for  a  year  on  a  sail 
ing  vessel,  see  the  world.  That  was  it.  Hang  the 
shoe  business ! 

Immersed  in  mental  chaos  such  as  these  frag 
ments  of  thought  suggest,  Jim  did  not  perceive  that 
he  was  being  overtaken,  until  a  slow  greeting  came 
to  his  ears. 

"Good  evening,  friend."  It  was  the  deliberate, 
wide-eyed  youth  of  the  Reading-room. 

"Ah,  good  evening." 

"If  you  are  on  your  way  to  the  Sailors'  Reading- 
room,  I  wish  to  inform  you  that  I  have  been  obliged 
to  lock  up  for  to-night,  on  account  of  an  urgent  er 
rand  at  the  village."  Jimmy  stared  vacantly  for  a 
moment  at  the  pale,  washed-out  countenance  of  his 
interlocutor.  "I  thought  I'd  tell  you,"  the  youth  went 
on  in  his  copy-book  style,  "so  as  to  save  your  taking 
the  long  walk.  I  am  the  librarian  of  the  Reading- 


room." 


AFTER   YOU   MONSIEUR!          369 

"Ah,  thank  you.  But  I  wasn't  going  to  the  Read 
ing-room  to-night.  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  village." 

"Well,  there's  a  large  majority  of  people  do  go  to 
the  Reading-room,  first  and  last,"  the  youth  ex 
plained  with  pride.  "And  some  of  them  are  not 
worthy  of  its  privileges.  I  am  on  my  way  now  to 
prevent  what  may  be  a  frightful  accident  to  one  who 
has  enjoyed  the  benefits  of  our  work.'* 

Jim  gazed  at  the  youth.  "A  frightful  accident! 
Then  why  in  Heaven's  name  don't  you  hurry?" 

The  youth  exhibited  a  slightly  injured  air,  but  did 
not  hasten. 

"I  was  just  about  to  continue  on  my  way,"  he  said, 
"when  it  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  be  interested 
to  know." 

"That's  good  of  you.    But  what  is  it  all  about?" 

"Some  time  ago,  a  very  profane  and  impatient 
gentleman,  waiting  for  money  to  be  telegraphed  to 
him  from  New  York — " 

"Well,  man,  go  on !    Where  is  he  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  movements  of  this 
ungodly  person,  but  it  appears  that  to-day,  for  the 
first  time  in  its  history,  the  quarry  up  yonder  has 
been  robbed.  Circumstances  lead  the  manager  to 
suspect  that  this  same  gentleman  was  the  perpetrator 


370  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

of  the  theft,  and  I  am  on  my  way  to  further  the 
ends  of  justice/' 

"No  need  to  be  so  particular  about  calling  him  a 
gentleman.  But  what  is  the  'accident'  likely  to  be?" 

"It  is  feared  that  the  thief  may  not  be  aware  of 
the  nature  of  the  article  he  has  stolen,  and  it  is  very 
dangerous." 

"What  on  earth  is  it?" 

"It  is  a  fairly  large-sized  stick  of  dynamite." 

The  youth  might  have  been  discussing  a  fancy 
dance,  so  suave  and  polite  was  he.  Jim  interrupted 
rudely. 

"Dynamite,  is  it?  Good.  If  it's  old  Chatelard, 
he  ought  to  blow  up.  Serve  him  right." 

"I'm  surprised  and  pained  at  your  words,  my  dear 
friend.  No  soul  is  utterly — " 

"Yes,  it  is.  Which  way  did  he  go?  Where  is 
he?" 

"I  don't  know.  The  manager  sent  me  to  inform 
the  sheriff." 

"It  won't  do  any  good.  But  you'd  better  go,  all 
the  same." 

The  judge  in  chancery  went  on  his  dignified  way. 
He  would  not  have  hurried  if  he  had  heard  Angel 
Gabriel's  trump.  The  news  he  had  brought  was  in 


AFTER   YOU    MONSIEUR!          371 

the  class  to  be  considered  important  if  true,  but  there 
was  nothing  in  it  to  alter  Jimmy's  plans.  He  took 
the  shortest  cut  to  the  shore,  found  a  flat-bottomed 
punt  that  was  regarded  by  the  village  as  general 
property,  and  pushed  off. 

The  Sea  Gull  was  a  tidy  craft,  and  looked  very 
gay  with  even  the  half  of  her  festival  flags  on  view. 
But  the  gaiety  did  not  beguile  Jim's  dampened  spir 
its.  He  went  aboard  feeling  that  he'd  like  to  rip  the 
idiotic  things  down ;  but  the  yacht,  at  least,  offered  a 
place  where  he  could  think.  The  sunset  light  on  the 
water  blazed  vermilion — just  the  color  that  Jim 
all  at  once  discovered  he  hated.  He  looked  down 
the  companionway,  but  finally  he  decided  to  stretch 
out  on  deck  for  a  few  minutes'  rest.  He  was  very 
tired. 

Off  in  the  stern  was  a  vague  mass  which  proved 
to  be  a  few  yards  of  canvas  carefully  tented  on  the 
floor.  Some  gimcrack  belonging  to  the  ship's  orna 
mentation  had  been  freshly  gilded  and  left  to  dry, 
protected  by  an  old  sail-cloth.  This,  weighted  down 
by  a  rusty  marlinespike,  spread  couchwise  along  the 
taffrail,  and  offered  to  Jim  just  the  bed  he  longed 
for. 

He  lay  down,  face  to  the  sky,  and  gave  himself 


372  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

up  to  thoughts  that  were  very  dark  indeed.  He  had 
been  thrown  down,  unexpectedly  and  quite  hard, 
and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  Agatha,  lovely  but 
inexplicable  maid,  was  not  for  him.  She  had  been 
deceptive — yes,  that  was  the  word ;  and  he  had  been 
a  fool — that  was  the  plain  truth.  He  might  as  well 
face  it  at  once.  He  had  been  idiot  enough  to  think 
he  might  win  the  girl,  just  because  they  had  been 
tossed  together  in  mid-ocean  and  she  had  clung  to 
him.  The  world  wasn't  an  ocean ;  it  was  a  spiritual 
stock-exchange,  where  he  who  would  win  must  bid 
very  high  indeed  for  the  prizes  of  life.  And  he 
had  so  little  to  bid ! 

Communing  thus  with  his  unhappiness,  Jim  ut 
terly  lost  the  sense  of  time.  The  shameless  ver 
milion  sunset  went  into  second  mourning  and  thence 
to  nun's  gray,  before  the  figure  on  the  sail-cloth 
moved.  Then,  through  senses  only  half  awake,  Jim 
heard  a  light  sound,  like  a  scratch-scratch  on  the  hull 
of  the  yacht.  Chamberlain,  no  doubt,  just  rubbing 
the  nose  of  his  tender  against  the  Sea  Gull.  Jim 
was  in  no  hurry  to  see  Chamberlain,  and  remained 
where  he  was.  The  Englishman  would  heave  in 
sight  soon  enough. 

But  though  Jim  waited  several  minutes,  with  half 


AFTER   YOU   MONSIEUR!          373 

an  eye  cocked  on  the  stairway,  nobody  appeared. 
The  wind  was  still,  the  sea  like  glass;  not  a  sound 
anywhere.  Struck  by  something  of  strangeness  in 
the  uncanny  silence,  Jim  sat  up  and  called  "Ahoy, 
Chamberlain!"  There  was  no  answer.  But  in  the 
tense  stillness  there  was  a  sound,  and  it  came  from 
below — the  sound  of  a  man's  stealthy  tread. 

Jim  sprang  to  his  feet  and  made  the  companion- 
way  at  a  bound.  He  listened  an  instant  to  make 
sure  that  he  heard  true,  cleared  the  steps,  and  landed 
in  the  darkness  of  the  ship's  saloon.  As  he  groped 
along,  reaching  for  the  door  of  the  principal  cabin, 
the  blackness  suddenly  lighted  a  little,  and  a  dim 
shadow  shot  out  and  up  the  stairway.  Jim's  physi 
cal  senses  were  scarcely  cognizant  of  the  soft,  quick 
passing,  but  his  thumbs  pricked.  He  dashed  after 
the  shadow,  up  the  stairs,  out  on  deck,  and  aft. 
There  he  was — Chatelard,  armed,  facing  his  enemy 
once  more,  cool  but  not  smiling,  desperately  at  bay. 
Below  him,  riding  just  under  the  stern  of  the  yacht, 
was  the  tender  whose  scratch-scratch  had  awakened 
Jim.  A  man,  oars  in  hand,  was  holding  the  boat 
close  to  the  Sea  Gull. 

Jim  saw  all  this  during  the  seconds  between  his 
turning  at  the  stair-top  and  his  throwing  himself 


374  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

plump  against  the  figure  by  the  railing.  He  was 
quick  enough  to  pass  the  range  of  the  weapon,  whose 
shot  rang  out  in  the  clear  air,  but  he  was  not  quick 
enough  to  get  under  the  man's  guard.  Chatelard 
was  ready  for  him,  holding  his  weapon  high. 

As  he  pressed  forward,  Jim  felt  something  under 
his  foot.  He  ducked  quickly,  as  if  to  dodge  Chate- 
lard's  hand,  and  on  the  downward  swing  he  picked 
up  the  rusty  marlinespike.  It  was  a  weapon  of  might, 
indeed.  Jim's  blow  caused  Chatelard's  arm  to  drop, 
limp  and  nerveless.  But  in  gaining  his  enemy's 
weapon,  Jim  was  forced  to  drop  his  own.  He  put  a 
firm  foot  upon  the  spike,  however,  while  he  held 
Chatelard  at  arm's  length  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"So  we  meet  once  more,  after  all!"  he  cried. 
"And  once  more  I  have  the  pistol."  Even  as  Jim 
spoke,  his  adversary  made  a  spring  that  almost 
enabled  him  to  seize  the  weapon  again.  Jim  eluded 
his  clutch,  and  quick  as  thought  threw  the  gun  over 
board.  It  struck  far  out  on  the  smooth  water. 

It  was  a  sorry  thing  to  do,  as  it  proved,  for 
Chatelard,  watching  his  chance,  stooped,  wrenched 
the  spike  from  under  Jim's  foot,  and  once  more 
stood  defiantly  at  bay.  And  at  this  point,  he  opened 
his  thin  lips  for  one  remark. 


AFTER    YOU    MONSIEUR!  375 

"You'll  go  to  hell  now,  you  pig  of  an  American !" 
"But  after  you,  Monsieur!"  Jim  cried,  and  with 
the  words,  his  arms  were  about  the  other  in  a  par 
alyzing  grip. 

Had  Jim  been  as  strong  as  when  the  two  men 
measured  forces  weeks  before,  in  the  fo'cas'le  of  the 
Jeanne  D'Arc,  the  result  might  have  been  different. 
But  the  struggle  was  too  long,  and  Jim's  strength 
insufficient.  Chatelard  freed  himself  from  his  an 
tagonist  sufficiently  to  wield  the  spike  somewhe/e 
about  Jim's  head,  and  there  came  over  him  a  sick 
ening  consciousness  that  he  was  going  down.  He 
dropped,  hanging  like  a  bulldog  to  Chatelard's 
knees,  but  he  knew  he  had  lost  the  game.  He 
gathered  himself  momentarily,  determined  to  get  on 
his  feet  once  more,  and  had  almost  done  it,  when 
sounds  of  approaching  voices  mingled  with  the 
scuffle  of  their  feet  and  their  quick  breathing. 
Before  Jim  could  see  what  new  thing  was  happen 
ing,  Chatelard  had  turned  for  one  alert  instant 
toward  the  port  side,  whence  the  invading  voices 
came.  He  was  cut  off  from  the  stairway,  caught  in 
the  stern  of  the  yacht,  his  weapon  gone.  He  gave  a 
quick  call  in  a  low  voice  to  the  boat  below,  stepped 
over  the  taffrail  and  then  leaped  overboard. 


376  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Propped  up  on  an  elbow,  dazed  and  half  blinded, 
blood  flowing  down  his  cheek,  Jim  stretched  for 
ward  dizzily,  as  if  to  follow  his  disappearing  enemy. 
He  heard  the  splash  of  the  water,  and  saw  the  row- 
boat  move  out  from  under  the  stern,  but  he  saw  no 
more.  He  thought  it  must  have  grown  very  dark. 

"Blest  if  he  didn't  jump  overboard  hanging  on  to 
that  marlinespike !"  said  Jim  stupidly  to  himself. 
And  then  it  became  quite  dark. 

When  Jimsy  regained  sight  and  consciousness, 
which  happened  not  more  than  three  minutes  after 
he  lost  them,  he  found  himself  supported  affection 
ately  against  somebody's  shoulder,  and  a  voice — 
the  Voice  of  all  voices  he  most  loved — was  in  his 
ears. 

"Here  I  am,  dear.  Do  not  die!  I  have  come — 
come  to  stay,  if  you  want  me,  James,  dearest!" 
And  bending  over  him  was  a  face — the  very  Vision 
of  his  dream.  "Look  at  me,  speak  to  me,  James, 
dearT 

The  voice  was  a  bit  hysterical,  but  the  face  was 
eloquent,  loving,  adoring.  It  was  too  good  to  be 
true,  though  Jim  was  disposed  to  let  the  illusion 
prolong  itself  as  far  as  possible.  He  put  up  his  hand 


AFTER   YOU   MONSIEUR!          377 

and  smoothed  her  face  gently,  in  gratitude  at  seeing 
it  kind  once  more.  Then  he  smiled  foolishly. 

"It's  great,  isn't  it!"  he  remarked  inanely,  before 
thinking  it  necessary  to  remove  his  head.  Her  face 
was  still  the  face  of  tenderness,  full  of  yearning. 
It  did  not  change.  She  took  a  handkerchief  from 
her  pocket  and  carefully  pressed  it  to  his  cheek  and 
chin.  When  she  took  it  away,  he  saw  that  it  was 
red. 

"Lord,  what  a  mess  I'm  making!"  he  exclaimed, 
trying  at  last  to  sit  up.  As  he  did  so,  it  all  came 
back  to  him — the  flying  shadow,  the  gun,  the  strug 
gle.  He  leaned  over  to  peer  again  through  the 
crossed  wires  of  the  deck  railing,  down  into  the 
water.  He  turned  back  with  an  amazed  expression. 

"Did  he  jump  overboard,  honest-true,  hanging  on 
to  that  spike?" 

Neither  Aleck  nor  Agatha  could  say,  nor  yet  Mr. 
Chamberlain,  who  had  been  searching  the  yacht. 
Wherever  it  was,  the  rusty  marlinespike  had  disap 
peared.  The  rowboat,  too,  had  gone  into  the  dark 
ness.  Jim  got  up,  dazedly  thinking  for  a  moment 
that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  give  chase,  but  he 
quickly  sat  down  on  the  sail-cloth  again,  overcome 
with  faintness  and  a  dark  pall  before  his  eyes. 


378  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"You  are  not  hurt  badly?''  The  voice  was  still 
tender,  and  it  was  all  for  him !  As  Jim  heard  it,  the 
pall  lifted,  and  his  buoyant  spirit  came  back  to  its 
own.  He  laughed  ringingly. 

"Lord,  no,  not  hurt.    But — " 

"But  what  ?    What  did  you  wish  to  say  ?" 

"Is  it  true  ?  Are  you  here,  by  me,  to  stay  ?" 

For  answer  she  pressed  his  hand  to  her  lips. 

Aleck  and  Chamberlain,  once  assured  that  Jim 
was  safe,  went  below  to  make  a  search,  and  Jim 
and  Agatha  were  left  together  on  the  sail-cloth.  As 
they  sat  there,  a  young  moon  shone  out  delicately 
in  the  west,  and  dropped  quickly  down  after  the  lost 
sun. 

"It's  the  first  moon  we've  seen  together!"  said 
Jim. 

"But  we've  watched  the  dawn." 

"Ah,  yes ;  and  such  a  dawn !" 

Little  by  little,  as  they  sat  together,  the  story  of 
the  fight  came  out.  Jim  told  it  bit  by  bit,  not  eager. 
When  it  was  done,  Agatha  was  still  puzzled.  "Why 
should  he  come  here  ?  What  could  he  do  here  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  though  we  shall  probably  find  out 
soon  enough.  But  I  don't  care,  now  that  you  are 
here." 


AFTER   YOU   MONSIEUR!          379 

"James,  dear,  will  you  forgive  me  for  this  after 
noon?" 

"I'll  forgive  you  if  you'll  take  it  all  back,  hide, 
hoofs  and  horns,  for  ever  'n  ever,  amen." 

"I  take  it  back.    I  never  meant  it." 

"Then  may  one  ask  why — " 

"Oh,  James,  I  don't  know  why." 

Anybody  could  have  told  them  that  it  was  only 
a  phase  of  feminine  panic  in  the  face  of  the  un 
known,  necessary  as  sneezing.  But,  as  Jim  said,  it 
didn't  matter. 

"Never  mind.  Only  I  don't  want  you  to  marry 
me  because  you  found  me  here  all  bluggy  and  pitied 
me." 

"James!  To  talk  like  that!  You  know  it 
wasn't — " 

"Then,  what  was  it?"  Jim,  suddenly  grown  ser 
pent-like  in  craft,  turned  his  well-known  ingenuous 
and  innocent  expression  upon  her. 

"The  moment  you  left  me,  up  there  in  the  pine 
grove,  I  knew  I  couldn't  do  without  you." 

"How  did  you  know  ?" 

"Because—" 

"Yes,  because — "  Jim  prompted  her. 

"Oh,  Jimsy,  you  know." 


380  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

"No,  I  don't." 

Agatha,  loving  his  teasing,  but  too  deeply  moved, 
too  generous  and  sincere  to  play  the  coquette,  turned 
to  him  again  a  face  shining  with  tenderness.  Her 
eyes,  like  stars ;  her  lips,  all  sweetness. 

"Only  love,  James,  dear — " 

Something  rose  again  in  Jimmy's  soft  heart,  chok 
ing  him.  As  he  had  thrilled  to  the  unknown  ecstasy 
in  Agatha's  song,  many  days  before,  so  now  he 
thrilled  to  her  voice  and  face,  eloquent  for  him 
alone.  Love  and  its  power,  life  and  its  meaning, 
the  long,  long  thoughts  of  youth  and  hope  and  desire 
— these  held  him  in  thrall.  Agatha  was  in  his  arms. 
Time  was  lost  to  him,  and  earth. 


EPILOGUE 

"VTO  one  ever  knew  whether  the  accomplished 
Frenchman  reached  shore,  ultimately,  in  the 
rowboat,  or  descended  to  Sabrina  beneath  the  waves. 
If  that  last  hasty  exit  from  the  deck  of  the  Sea  Gull 
was  also  his  final  exit  from  life,  certain  it  is  that 
his  departure  into  the  realm  of  shades  was  unwept 
and  unsung.  The  stick  of  dynamite  was  found, 
after  a  gingerly  search,  lying  on  one  of  the  berths 
in  the  large  cabin,  where  it  had  been  dropped  by  the 
Frenchman  in  his  flight. 

Jimmy  Hambleton  did  not  let  the  shoe  business 
entirely  go  to  destruction,  though  his  taste  for  holi 
days  grew  markedly  after  he  brought  his  bride  home 
with  him  to  Lynn.  One  year,  when  the  babies  were 
growing  up,  he  ordered  a  trim  little  yacht  to  be  built 
and  put  into  her  berth  at  Charlesport.  She  was 
named  the  Sea  Gull.  Jimmy's  chauffeur,  called 
Hand,  was  her  captain. 

381 


382  THE    STOLEN    SINGER 

Sometimes,  when  James  and  Agatha  were  alone, 
in  the  zone  of  stillness  that  hung  over  the  listening 
water,  there  would  rise  a  song,  clear  and  birdlike : 

"Free  of  my  pain,  free  of  my  burden  of  sorrow, 
At  last  I  shall  see  thee — " 

and  again  Jimmy's  heart  would  rise  buoyant,  free, 
happy — the  heart  of  unquenchable  youth. 


THE  END 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-Series  458 


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PS3503 

Bellinger,  M.I.F.        E446 
The  stolen  singer.     S7 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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